Paul's Palate

Say Hello to Hola

2011-12-23T11:56:00.000-08:00

For foodies residing on the South Shore, why travel to Boston’s acclaimed Toro when one can feast on well-prepared, innovative tapas and scrumptious flatbreads at Marshfield’s Hola? Tucked away in a rear parking lot in Library Plaza just off of busy Route 139, the restaurant feels like a secluded dining spot that – like a glass of fine Jimenez sherry – you can enjoy just for yourself.

And yet, upon entering into this warm establishment through a set of curtains, you quickly realize that you can’t have Hola all to yourself. Even on an early Thursday evening, Hola’s social scene is already in high gear. Hand-painted walls create a relaxing, fun ambience (there’s also a large fireplace on the outside patio, perfect for late summer/early fall visits).

The only evident drawback of the evening is Hola’s substandard cocktails. A mojito arrives with far too much rum and virtually no sugar (although our server politely brings back an improved version), a Dark and Stormy is equally overwrought with rum, while on the other end of the spectrum, a white sangria – which should be considered a staple at any tapas establishment – is excessively bland in taste (lemonade and wine do not a fine sangria make) and possesses nary a hint of fruit. For concoctions ranging from $8-9, one expects better. Instead, sample more authentic drinks hailing from Spain like the addictive Licor 43 (a vanilla liquer), Pedro Ximenez Lustau sherry (very sweet), or a subtle, light, highly drinkable glass of Rioja Crianza ($9). There are roughly 30 affordable varieties of wine hailing from Spain, Argentina, Italy, and California, about two-thirds of them red, nearly half available by the glass (most between $6-8), and the majority coming in at under $30 per bottle.

As for the food itself, Hola confidently hits its stride with its unique cold tapas. One of the most pleasant surprises of the evening, an option not even on my radar, was a delightful dish of spiced grapes (laced with cinnamon), marcona almonds, goat cheese, and anise crisps ($6.50). It’s a dish packed with many seemingly off-kilter ingredients that somehow strike a balance between texture and flavor. Charred rare beef with sherried figs and blue cheese ($9.50) is also solid, blending together sweetness and tartness. Ceviche-style tuna ($9.50) – which when done improperly can come off as tasting excessively fishy – is perfectly seasoned with mango vinegar, chili aioli, and accompanied by spicy cabbage for a crunchy contrast.

Hot tapas fare almost equally as well. The most noteworthy dish of the evening that had everyone in their seats wondering aloud: How did they (the kitchen) do that (in terms of flavoring)? was the fried calamari with hot and sweet chili vinaigrette ($9). The calamari were perfectly crisped on the outside, succulent on the inside, and possessed some of the best sugary-spicy seasoning I’ve ever experienced with any dish. This was an absolute knockout, and had me clamoring for more once every last crustacean was devoured. Almost equally as good were the curry fried green beans with a lemon aioli dipping sauce ($6) to counter the curry’s heat. Other standout dishes included addictive roasted dates and bacon ($7) with – yes, once again – that sensational mango vinegar, each of which I dreamed about popping into my mouth late into the evening if only I was afforded the opportunity. Grilled shrimp with smoked paprika and lemon ($9), while less adventurous, was a well-executed dish, as were chicken empanadas with corn and black beans ($7.50). Succulent lamb was perfectly cooked and memorable.

A potato torta (akin to a Spanish omelet) with romesco sauce ($6.50) was a disappointment, laced with far too few potatoes, too much cheese, and topped with an unflattering looking dollop of unremarkably flavored romesco sauce. While the coffee and chipotle rubbed steak with fried potato wedges ($12) was decent enough, there was not enough coffee in the rub itself to elevate the dish from merely good to great.

Flatbreads were also exceptional for the most part, just light enough and perfectly crisped to allow for sampling several versions. Noteworthy, innovative selections included smoky garlic shrimp/roasted peppers/scallion and saffron aioli/queso fresco ($11.50), spinach/red onion/hot cherry peppers/asiago ($9), and my personal favorite with figs/prosciutto/gorgonzola ($11), a dish that winningly combined sweet and salty elements. The only misfires here were an unflatteringly tasting eggplant/roasted red peppers/fried garlic/queso fresco ($9.50) and a surprisingly bland mushrooms/butternut squash/manchego/truffle oil ($11).

The evening concluded with a decadent duo of desserts, beginning with – what else? – another flatbread, this time layered with crème anglaise and fresh berries. Churros were prepared in an untraditional, yet inspiring fashion. In lieu of arriving in long, narrow strips, they were served beignet-style, each with a wonderfully hot, crispy exterior (other versions suffer from excess amounts of doughiness) resting atop a warm, gooey chocolate sauce.

With its courteous, attentive, eager-to-please wait staff, reasonable prices, and eclectic, frequently exciting cuisine, you’ll never want to say goodbye to Hola.

Good Fortune at Myers and Chang

2011-11-07T05:32:00.000-08:00

Spanish tapas, those delicious miniature delicacies long available at restaurants such as Ken Oringer’s acclaimed Toro and South Shore’s Loco, have unfortunately become a bit of a culinary cliché. If you’re looking to spice up your dining options, head over to Myers and Chang, which offers innovative, flavorful tapas courtesy of the Far East. The restaurant is helmed by husband and wife/restauranteur and chef superduo Christopher Myers and Joanne Chang, who opened their funky, upscale indie dim sum diner in Boston’s South End neighborhood back in 2008.

The ambience is trendy, to be sure, but Myers and Chang’s proprietors don’t take themselves too seriously, either. Take, for instance, the venue’s mirrored walls with playful, handwritten messages, as well as a giant dragon lurking across its windows. Diners are indeed in for a good old straightforward fortune here: fun. There is, however, one caveat: be prepared to shout across the table to your eating companions, as tables are tightly packed together in this surprisingly small space (are the owners trying to re-create China itself?), while indie music blares loudly.

The menu offers creative takes on traditional Chinese, Thai, and Vietnamese specialties. Each dish, our server explains, is made fresh to order and served immediately once it hits the plate, so be prepared to eat items out of order. Herbs and spices are abundant and enliven many selections. Sharing several small, affordable plates is highly encouraged. Ah, communal dining at its finest.

A mid-sized bar and open kitchen are located at the back of the room, perfect for viewing one’s food being prepared as well-coiffed singles and couples smile and sip on nicely crafted cocktails including sake sangrias and one of the finest muddled mint mojitos you’ll ever have.

Although sharing s encouraged, you may not want to part with some of the dim sum selections, including a comforting bowl of iridescent orange-colored butternut squash and coconut soup with 5-spice charred wild mushrooms ($7). It’s creamy (but not heavy) and instantly craveable, is punctuated with hints of lemongrass and chili, and is accompanied by crunchy fired kimchi balls (perfect for dipping and contrast). Less inspiring is esti’s hot & sour soup with fresh shitakes, pork, and local tofu ($5), which consists of a broth neither spicy nor tart enough to inspire anything more than slight acknowledgement from Esti Parson herself (for whom the soup is named, a local restauranteur and close friend of the owners). Silky soft braised pork belly buns ($9) with bao, brandy hoisin, and house pickle are also memorable. A friend of mine initially expresses reluctance upon ordering tiger’s tears ($11) given the menu’s disclaimer about its high level of spiciness. He’s happily brought to tears, however, after realizing how delicious this complex blend of grilled steak (served cold), thai basil, lime, and khao koor really is. Island creek clams with housemade black bean sauce and infused with sake ($12) are wonderfully smoky and fresh. My wife expresses mild disappointment in the dish, but I find it bordering on spectacular given all its nuanced flavors.

Under the ‘…and then some’ portion of the menu, which consists of slightly larger portions, the tea-smoked pork spare ribs ($14) are a carnivore’s delight, the perfect sweet and sticky meaty combination. Also highly enjoyable is chef Chang’s playful take on a Southern delicacy of fried chicken and waffles ($17), inserting a ginger-sesame waffle (which will definitely make you leggo your Eggo) and swapping out maple syrup for hot and sweet sauce. It instantly makes me reconsider having breakfast for dinner. The lone misstep of the evening was a heavy, rather bland-tasting noodle dish of beef and broccoli chow fun ($15).

Desserts (all $7) are not to be missed, particularly given Chang’s notoriety for her confectionary concoctions at her nearby Flour bakery. Coconut cream pie with lime whipped cream is an airy, divine delight. “ancient Chinese secret” chocolate mousse – dairy-free, no less – is wonderfully dense and shouldn’t be kept hidden from the public any longer. It’s laced with miniature tasty 5-spice merungues. Lemon-ginger mousse coupe is too tart and curd-like in texture for my taste, but is accompanied by a crunchy homemade fortune cookie.

Service is surprisingly good given the somewhat cramped and chaotic setting. Our waitress’s recommendations are spot-on, her knowledge of the entire menu is extensive, and she is extremely attentive to all of our needs and requests, as evidenced by her repeated spot checks with my wife to ensure that the meal met her expectations given her dairy allergy. Confuscius says, “Superior service makes for very happy customers, indeed.”

So, too, do the reasonable prices for such delicious fare. With dim sum dishes averaging $8-10, and none of the larger dishes exceeding $16, you can enjoy a sultan’s feast at Myers and Chang, particularly when dining with other adventurous couples who are equally eager to sample unique dishes. Don’t forget, however, to tack on an additional $12 for parking in an adjacent lot due to no valet parking and little, if any metered parking alongside Washington Street.
As Chef Chang brought out our plate of clams early on, I announced in jest to the table, “We have a celebrity in our presence.” Chang laughed along with us, politely asked us if we were enjoying ourselves, and proceeded to chat with other customers about their dining experience. It was a pleasant, casual exchange that perfectly embodied what makes Myers and Chang so appealing. Like that wonderful sauce accompanying those chicken and waffles, the restaurant not only remains hot right now in Boston’s dining scene but also packs lots of genuine sweetness.

Zebra’s Earns its Stripes

2011-10-28T07:26:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been to a restaurant that wasn’t at all what you expected? And in a good way? Zebra’s Bistro and Wine Bar, located on North Main Street in Medfield, surprised me on multiple levels. From its trendy interior, to its eclectic, New American cuisine, to its superior service, and mind you, all at a reasonable price point, this Metrowest suburban hotspot made me feel as if I were dining in Boston, less the distance and parking valet fees.

If you can overlook the restaurant’s confusing parking situation (the back parking lot cannot be accessed from North Main Street itself but a street over), Zebra’s does not disappoint, particularly in ambience. The entryway opens into an expansive lounge and bar area, packed with affluent suburbanites sipping and smiling the evening away. Who knew Medfield was such a happening town? A short walk leads to a smaller private dining area on the right-hand side, and then to the main dining room, which boasts walls splashed with warm, welcoming hues of orange and yellow and are adorned with several paintings. Several tables are surrounded by yellow and black embroidered chairs resembling zebra stripes (get it?). The room comes off as casual, yet cool.

As for the food, it’s innovative and most often, delicious. Take, for instance, the appetizers, which included pulled pork tostadas with guacamole and pepper jack cheese ($9.95), a unique, fun take on the traditional Mexican dish that left me scraping every last morsel off of my plate. Arancini (risotto stuffed with mozzarella and prosciutto, served with pomodoro sauce, for $10.95) was almost equally as good.

Thin crust pizzas utilized different ingredients as well, such as the promising lobster and black fig mission pizza with aged blue cheese, roasted corn and scallion essence ($19.95). While I applaud Zebra’s kitchen for employing such bold flavors, the pie was overpoweringly sweet and dense for my taste, as I could only muster a couple of bites. It was far too ‘busy’ of a dish and a mild disappointment.

Entrees, however, put the kitchen back on track. Beef short ribs over horseradish mashed potatoes ($24.95) were not only plentiful, but also packed tremendous flavor and tenderness, unlike several versions I’ve tasted (the meat was soaked in red wine for 24 hours ahead of time). In lieu of a traditional side of rice, saffron paella was served over risotto accompanied by generous, fresh portions of shrimp, clams, mussels, salmon, and spicy chorizo (a steal at $24.95). My only minor quibble with the dish was that the saffron itself was barely detectable (although our server did warn us about this, and given my experience with saffron, large amounts would need to be incorporated into the dish to make a dent flavor-wise).

For dessert, a seasonal pumpkin cake with buttercream frosting ($7), provided to Zebra’s fresh that day from the bakery across the street, was a comforting conclusion to our meal.

Service at Zebra’s bordered on spectacular. Our server was pleasant, patient, and extremely knowledgeable of the entire menu. She walked us through a reasonably priced, extensive wine selection that included roughly seventy red and fifty white varieties. A bottle of 2007 Hahn Estates (produced in Monterey) provided tremendous value at $39 for this smooth, subtle Bordeaux/Meritage blend. Several other seasonal cocktails included the Red Delicious (cherry bourbon, apple liquer, Chambord, and cranberry, served straight up). About a dozen beer selections as well as cold sake for the more adventurous drinkers are also featured.

Zebra’s owners, upon opening its doors in 1999, sought to re-capture the vibrant, intimate feel of the South End neighborhood they previously inhabited. Given their establishment’s convenient location, commendable fare, and outstanding service, I’d say they’ve accomplished their mission. Zebra’s makes Paul’s Palate’s taste buds – to paraphrase musician Prince – party like it’s 1999.

Seasons Greetings from Summer Winter

2011-08-01T05:24:00.000-07:00

No matter the season, Summer Winter will surely please any foodie’s palate, particularly Paul’s Palate. Owners Clark Frasier and Mark Gaier, the dynamic culinary duo behind highly acclaimed Maine eatery, Arrows, made shockwaves in the Boston dining scene a few years ago, not only because of their decision to open their sister restaurant in the Greater Boston area, but by taking a risk by doing so in a Burlington-based Marriott, of all places. While the restaurant clearly lacks Arrows’ romantic ambience given its suburban setting (oddly located behind an Irish pub within the hotel), it more than accounts for with its freshly prepared, innovative fare.

True to the restaurant’s name, the modern American menu boasts seasonal, locally produced items. In fact, diners can openly view many of the herbs, vegetables, and spices that are incorporated into their meals by peeking at the on-site greenhouse residing at the back of the dining room (that’s a plus, given the modern-looking, yet relatively non-descript hotel interior sans a couple of pictures of produce adorning the walls). And oh, do these ingredients ever take center stage. Frasier and Gaier certainly utilize a unique array of them, but in a restrained, technically sound manner.

Take, for instance, small bites (a steal at $3.50 apiece) that include ‘Strange Flavored’ Eggplant served with warmed pita bread, a hummus-like spread in texture with hints of Thai spices. It’s a revelatory dish that had my wife and I licking every last drop off of our plates and craving more. Sweet and sour roasted cipollini’s (onions) and mushrooms with Arrows Bacon also popped with flavor, although I wished more of than a half dozen small morsels of the wonderfully smoked meat adored the plate to offset the acidity of the vegetables. Tuna tartar ($16) was the lone, albeit minor misstep foodwise. The tuna on its own was underseasoned, but when paired with Middle Eastern spiced onions and cumin yogurt, showed notable improvement. The accompanying garden frisee was nothing more than superfluous, dried-out lettuce.

Entrees truly showcased Frasier and Gaier’s culinary talents and aspirations. If you think the brown sugar and rhubarb brined pork chop ($28) slathers these ingredients atop the meat, you’d be missing the point. These ingredients are cooked into the meat, making for one of the most moist, smoky, and perfectly grilled chops you’ll find in this area. A side starch of Mom’s corn custard is as mouth-wateringly appealing as it sounds and likely better than anything produced out of your own mother’s kitchen (my apologies if I have offended any mothers reading this article, mine included). This concoction resembles cornbread, only far less cakey and much moister, with actual pieces of corn cooked directly into the custard. It could just as easily pose as dessert, and like the aforementioned eggplant, left me seeking more. Another stellar dish included the MC Whole Fried Trout ($26), impressively de-boned and layered with sesame seeds, scallions, and a surprisingly subtle, well-flavored Chinese black bean sauce. It’s lovely to look at and even lovelier to eat. Who needs a romantic setting when food this sexy is served tableside?

Desserts are equally inspired, particularly a blueberry upside down cake with lemon mousse ice cream and blueberry sauce (with fresh blueberries tucked into the small scoop of ice cream). The moist cake thankfully not as dense as it sounds, but surely is as decadent.

Service was relatively smooth with the exception of bringing out an incorrect entrée, mistaking my pork chop for a ribeye. The General Manager ultimately came out, profusely apologized, and generously comped not only my meal but our desserts. With that said, by the time she approached our table, my wife had nearly finished her trout, but she proceeded to offer to take back the dish and cook up a new one, an offer that should have been extended immediately after my ribeye dish was removed). Cocktails, too, priced at $12, were a major disappointment, particularly promising Sangria with fresh spices that possessed little, if any flavor. Stick with wine selections, from which there are 150 to choose, many of which are reasonably priced.

If you can’t make your way to Arrows in Maine, then Summer Winter is a nice consolation prize. Its hotel setting may not be fashionable, but inspired cuisine at affordable prices always is, no matter the season.

Prezza Leaves Quite an ‘Imprezzion’

2011-05-29T10:34:00.000-07:00

Widely-known fact: the North End boasts an extraordinary number of Italian dining establishments. Lesser-known fact: the majority of these eateries serve up good (but not great), often overpriced fare. Prezza, chef owner Anthony Caturano’s critically praised restaurant, now in its tenth year, offers food that as big on flavors and portion sizes as it is on one’s expense account (yes, Prezza is ‘pri…zzey).

Located on Fleet Street, just a stone’s throw away from bustling Hanover Street, Prezza’s ambience is hip, yet subdued. Its interior includes dark wood, warm, welcoming beige walls, dim lighting, and walls adorned with contemporary artwork. Prezza is one of those rare places where you can either go to be seen or simply settle into the background while sipping on a nice glass of wine.

And there is an abundance of wine at Prezza, almost to the point of intimidation. There’s a 30 page selection, including pricey reserves, and at first glance, this navigation process can be overwhelming. Fortunately, our server is well-versed with the entire menu, and recommends a less costly alternative (prices dramatically fluctuate, and $30-50 bottles can be had but require an astute eye). He also keeps our meal at a leisurely pace and is quick, confident, and spot-on with each of his suggestions over the course of the evening. Wine consistently flows in and out of our glasses. Life thusfar at Prezza is good.

So, too, is the cuisine. For starters, the crispy shrimp served with Italian slaw and cherry pepper aioli ($16) is beautifully and brightly plated, four nicely sized crustaceans – heads and all – wrapped in kataifi (phyllo). One of my dining companions is underwhelmed with the dish’s lack of heat, but I couldn’t disagree more, enjoying the mildly fiery aftertaste that each bite left in my palate. As we were discussing the dish, our server interjected that there was a hint of harissa (a Moroccan spice) thrown in with the shrimp which gave them their added spicy kick. Almost equally as good was the wood-grilled squid and octopus with braised white beans and toasted parsley ($15). The seafood, once again, was generous in portion, meaty and smoky, while the white beans in which it soaked was more like a hearty broth, not so much a contrast to the fish, but more like a sumptuous, satisfying additional layer of flavor. A generous half portion of lobster far diavlo with saffron tagliatelle with roasted tomato, fennel, and lobster meat ($18) was also a hit with most of the table. While I was particularly fond of the lip-smackingly good sauce, I found the plate served lukewarm to mildly cold, and the tagliatelle slightly overcooked and not as al dente to my liking.

Entrees also struck positive notes. Caturano’s take on paella with saffron (sensing a theme here?) rice, chorizo, chicken, tomato, lobster, swordfish, shrimp, clams, mussels, and squid ($36) is sure to rival any of Boston’s finest. Unlike more brothy (translation: more goopy) versions I’ve recently sampled, this one stands out, particularly the rice and the manner in which all of the ingredients are plated independent from one another. Like the crispy shrimp before it, it’s a stunning dish to behold. Likewise the wood-grilled Veal Porter House with saffron lobster risotto, broccoli rabe, and red wine sauce. At $44, it’s a pricey dish, but it will reward the diners who invest in it. The large, smokey cut perfectly cooked medium rare and is downright succulent when dipped into that rich, heavenly wine reduction sauce. The accompanying risotto included generous lumps of lobster, and might well rival some of the city’s best (yes, even Mistral’s). And don’t even think about passing on Prezza’s super creamy, super dreamy polenta, served in a pool with tomato, basil, and parmigiano. It’s the best $8 you’ll ever spend for a side dish.

Prezza also offers a creative assortment of desserts, a rarity in most North End establishments. While I’m initially disappointed that their fig turnover with pistachio gelato has recently been taken off the menu, our server tells me not to fret. He recommends the limoncello cheesecake on biscotti crust ($10), and it’s delightful. Also served with shaved coconut, the cheesecake is surprisingly light and airy (I detest dense versions) despite its ricotta filling, while being just tart enough without bordering on overpowering. The server is also high on the white chocolate bread pudding with vanilla bean ice cream and crème anglaise ($10), evoking a smirk from this diner given how ubiquitous the dessert has become. My skepticism, however, quickly transforms into near astonishment as I take a bite, and then additional others, realizing how flavorful this confection is with no accompanying sauces to be seen or had on the plate.

Flavorful food, generous portions, gracious and polished service – these are the signs of a winning establishment, even in spite of a hefty price tag. Special occasion restaurants, after all, should be in the business of making one feel special, right? Given this accomplishment, Prezza is nothing short of ‘imprezzive.’

Delfino Brings Tastes of Italy to Roslindale

2011-05-16T13:00:00.000-07:00

We’ve all heard this storyline before: you know, the one about the cozy neighborhood that’s legendary in stature, but only to its local residents, while it remains more or less anonymous to less fortunate diners outside of the area. Think Ten Tables in Jamaica Plain before others caught wind of it and has since expanded into Cambridge given the demand to get in. Roslindale’s Delfino fits this profile to a T. One would assume that given its generous portions of simple, yet well executed dishes that are even more generous in flavor, that the restaurant would be a household name across the state. It surprisingly isn’t.

Perhaps this is partly attributed to its tucked-away location in Roslindale Village, or even its relatively small interior dining room, non-existant waiting area, and no-reservations policy (be prepared to wait 1-2 hours unless you call ahead). And the décor is not Delfino’s strongsuit, either, unless cheesy wall murals of fruit and vegetables along with paper tablecloths tickle your fancy.

But oh, the food has a wonderful way of converting all of the non-believers. Our cordial server impressively recites the evening menu’s specials, down to the last ingredient. The meal is terrifically paced, allowing friendly conversation, wine, and flavors on the palate to linger just long enough throughout the evening.

One appetizer special of a tuna tartare – served in a martini glass – is abundant in volume and taste, mixed with avocado, cherry tomatoes and lime juice. This was the version I’d anticipated but sadly never received two weeks prior at the much more acclaimed Radius. As for entrees, another special of halibut was well cooked in a white wine sauce reduction. My veal marsala tenderloin, cooked perfectly medium rare, may have been one of the finest cuts I’ve sampled in some time, possessing very little fat that often bogs down other versions. Its wild mushroom Marsala sauce was rich in flavor, as was the herb risotto, which was a tad heavy given the denseness of the sauce (although still quite good). House-made pappardelle – ribbon noodles tossed with shrimp and arugula in pink sauce, sounds simple in preparation, but let me assure you is the closest I’ll ever get to my Italian grandmother’s (if I was Italian, that is!) homemade pasta.

A subtle, not overpowering chocolate bread pudding and house-made tiramisu provide wonderful closure to a fine meal.

As we depart, the maitre’d graciously ushers us out and asks us to come again. I almost feel like politely pulling him aside and asking, “Are you sure us outsiders are welcomed back?” I now feel at home here, amongst the locals.

Radius Worth Breaking the Bank Over

2011-05-16T12:59:00.000-07:00

Celebrity chef Michael Schlow apparently can do no wrong nowadays (other than his premature exit on Top Chef Masters). His culinary empire grows ever stronger by the day. Via Matta remains one of Boston’s landmark dining destinations for fine dining and people watching, Alta Strada has expanded, and Latin tapa-inspired Tico recently opened its doors in the Back Bay. But ask any local foodie in the know, and they’ll all point to Radius and Schlow’s crowning achievement. Opened over a decade ago, it still warrants consideration as one of the city’s top three or four dining establishments. It’s no small irony that Radius is located in a converted bank vault in Boston’s Financial District. Expense accounts be damned, this is a restaurant customers loosen their wallets for and splurge on those special occasions.

Set in a rotund, white room cloaked with crimson colors and thick columns, Radius’s ambience can best be classified as royal with chic. Shortly after being seated, you know you’re about to be treated like royalty. Behold, the Rotating Servers of the Dining Table, decked out in blue navy blazers. Listen to techno music pulsating over the quite room. Sure, eating at a rave-like event at Caesar’s Palace sounds quirky, but it somehow works.

The seven-course menu is a smorgasbord of Mediterranean, French, and Asian-inspired dishes that work for the most part, and when Schlow is truly on his game as he is this evening, they are innovative and transporting. This is intended to be seductive fare, after all. Take, for instance, ginger poached muschovy duck served atop a crostini with spicy coconut caramel and grilled scallion compote. Sounds highly appealing, but Schlow turns the flavors up a notch by pairing with a pineapple-mango shooter. The combination of flavors is positively delectable, and I allowed it to linger on my palate long after I’d taken my last bite-sip. Tempura set atop seaweed salad-inspired soba noodles is also unusual and memorable in both presentation and taste. Not as successful, however, was an appetizer of ahi tuna tartare with avocado puree, ikura, and citrus, which proved disappointingly bland given the lack of citrusy sweetness.

Onto the main courses, which included a wonderful slow-roasted Scottish salmon set atop a potato cake. Schlow’s legendary slow-roasted ribeye served alongside robuchon potatoes, pearl onions, and drizzled with red wine sauce was perfectly cooked (medium rare) and seasoned. For pre-dessert, an odd-sounding celery sorbet – its description sure to evoke several dry heaves from less adventurous diners – atop a peanut butter base was a tasty triumph. It’s a pity there wasn’t more of it, although I had to remind myself that it was merely a precursor to the decadent pilon de chocolat, a dense, rotund mound of heavenly bittersweet chocolate, although the accompanying fenugreek ice cream was superfluous and slightly off-putting in flavor.

Overall, Radius earns high marks for its doting service and awe-inspiring dishes. Some critics may nitpick about Schlow’s smaller-in-stature portion sizes, but it’s his emphasis on larger-than-life ingredients that elevate his dishes from most of his counterparts around town. When you’re breaking the bank when dining out, rest assured that the high quality of Schlow’s cuisine ensures that there is no highway ‘dining’ robbery transpiring at Radius.

This Yard House Doesn’t Measure Up

2011-04-11T08:30:00.000-07:00

Oh, what tricks the food gods play! Yard House, located in the far back of Dedham’s bustling shopping plaza, Legacy Place, appears to be a perfectly logical spot for an evening of fun, casual dining. A seemingly infinite number of creative beer selections on tap, a voluminous menu from which to choose (over 130 items), and an even more voluminous setting (classic rock blaring on a high end sound system to drone out potential tantrums of our children). An upscale restaurant chain couldn’t be all that bad, could it? The ambience is impressively supersized. Behold, ye of drinking age and unquenchable thirst, the glass-enclosed keg room in which 5,000 gallons of beer resides! Behold the gigantic center island bar featuring an endless number of tap handles and over 250 varieties of beers on tap! Behold the number of thirsty patrons downing the ridiculously large 3-foot tall glasses of said beer! The origin of this mammoth glass is equally impressive: stagecoach drivers in England would down these during the periods when horse-drawn carriages were the method of transportation (so much for eschewing the dangers of drinking and driving back in the day). Abstract artwork adorns the walls, while dozens of flat screens keep interested sports nuts informed. It’s as if the owners of this California-based chain, which spans across 25 cities nationally, are saying to documentary director Morgan Spurlock, “Supersize this.” But excess only takes you so far in this world before ultimately combusting. Although I’d happily combust on Yard House’s beers, which travel through three to five of beer lines stretching overhead from the keg room across to the island bar, maintaining a constant temperature between 34 and 36 degrees. I’d recommend heading to the Blends, which feature creative combinations with stouts, ales, and ciders. My favorite? The Black Velvet, which includes Wayder’s pear cider and Guiness stout. The cider offsets the heaviness of the stout and provides a subtle sweetness to the drink. It’s pure mixology nirvana, and I order it in the 3-foot tall glass ($13.50 for a 2-pint drink). And what better way to down beer than with nicely crisped shoestring fries? I also take a sip of a dining companion’s delicious Java Coffee porter, which contains a strong, terrific burst of espresso flavor and is just rich enough without being too heavy. But that is where the fun ends. Entrees are tepid at best. I, along with another person, order the most popular house favorite on the menu, the (Mac + Cheese)2 ($15.95). It’s a combination of comfort food that should sound sinfully good to consume: chicken breast, smoked applewood bacon, wild mushrooms, cheddar and parmesan with campanelle pasta and white truffle oil. It receives a lukewarm reception – literally. While mine was served hot, the other person who ordered the dish immediately sent his cold plate back. Our waitress, prior to ordering this dish, raved about how delicious it was, going so far as to say she ate it once a week. “It’s a diet buster, but well worth it,” she convincingly stated with a smile. How disappointing, then, to receive such a visually and tastefully bland mess such as this? I glanced over to the other diner, and we both gave the universally understood nod that conveys utter disgust with our dishes. I didn’t detect a trace of any one ingredient in the dish but for the pasta tubes themselves. Another diner’s Bernaise burger (with fried onions) and a lush BBQ chicken salad (with roasted pasilla, pinto beans, cilantro, and fried onions) fared better. A trio sampler, including peach apple cobbler and lemon and chocolate soufflés were decent enough but immediately forgettable. The self-described American fusion menu, on the whole, however, proves to be a costly misnomer. Yard House seems to get the basic dishes right, but when it attempts to fuse the finer things together and create more inspired dishes, the menu moves incrementally by inches, not yards. And why must a seemingly well-oiled machine of a restaurant so clueless as to where it seats a large party with two high-chairs? We were somehow seated in an area bursting with a flurry of server activity, which made for treacherous going as waiters cautiously, almost rudely tiptoed around two restless children. Was the hostess actually thinking that they would remain seated during the meal’s entirety? Service with a smile only takes one so far. Our server was polite enough, and willfully provided recommendations. But it was as if we were experiencing the culinary equivalent of American Idol, whereby a contestant doesn’t connect with the song he or she is singing. Our server’s recommendations were not well-founded, and her level of attentiveness was minimal. Water glasses were left unfilled, and our server disappeared for minutes at a time, particularly after the dessert sampler was placed on the table. Surely, she couldn’t have expected that six grown adults and three children split the trio sampler (three small dishes) without asking if anyone would like to order something else, could she? Many a good beer can be had at Yard House. For anything food-related, however, I’d venture several yards in any other direction of Legacy Place. This restaurant’s food simply doesn’t measure up.

Not a Happening (CBS) Scene

2011-03-21T06:20:00.000-07:00

CBS Scene, located at Patriot’s Place in Foxborough, proves that size does not matter. Yes, there’s the ‘wick-it aw-suhm’ environment in which to catch sporting events on jumbo-sized HDTVs (of which there are 135 in total). With regard to its cuisine, however, the restaurant is all bark and no bite – it’s overcompensating. The food is highly overpriced and the quality of the fare is – well, pedestrianly fair. Ask yourself this: would either Bob Kraft or Tom Brady be caught dining here after a game (perhaps even during the lockout)?

Starters (most between $6.50-10) are actually CBS’s stronger suit. Sweet-chili garlic glazed crisp chicken wings are, to quote former Arizona Cardinals football coach Dennis Green, what we thought they were: crispy, meaty, tender, and tasty.

Not so tasty, however is the ½ lb. hamburger ($10.50 plain, $1 each for additional sides). Mine was cooked to order (medium rare), but my dining companion’s was overcooked. The bland shoestring fries were underseasoned and barely lukewarm.

A dessert trio sampler platter ($12) was average at best. Of the three confections, the coconut cheesecake beignets with raspberry sauce were the most memorable, the apple crisp was capable but ordinary, while their signature skillet-sizzling chocolate bread budding simply lacked sizzle. In fact, it was woefully overcooked and an inedible slab resting on the plate. When we inform our waitress of this, she apologizes with indifference and nothing more.

At the conclusion of our meal, the General Manager walks by and asks us about our meal. We politely inform him of the meal’s shortcomings, from the service to the quality of most of the food. He, too, nods with indifference. When notified of the shoestring fries, he responds, “Yeah, we’ve gotten lots of complaints before on these.” Um, OK, so what do you propose to rectify this problem? We walk away feeling as if we’re the last football players selected in the NFL Draft – Mr. Irrelevant. Here’s a suggestion: bypass this lackluster scene and head straight to nearby spots Tastings and Bar Louie for better grub and service. With regard to CBS, it’s better not to take one for the team.

(Not So) Secret Rendezvous

2011-03-21T05:29:00.000-07:00

Some rendezvous are best kept secretive. Rendezvous, located on bustling Mass Ave in Central Square, Cambridge, should not. Chef/owner Steve Johnson opened up this hip establishment in 2005 in the space formerly occupied by Burger King. But in lieu of serving Whoppers to the masses, Johnson and staff served up sophisticated western Mediterranean-influenced (Italian, French, Spanish, and north African regions) dishes that pack whoppers of taste. Rendezvous opened to wide acclaim and has apparently done little to tarnish its reputation, recently named as one of Boston’s top 50 restaurants by Boston Magazine. Woud Paul’s Palate join the masses?

Johnson’s restaurant is trendy, but without the pretentiousness (this will be a recurring theme throughout the evening). The warm orange and red hues splashed along the walls serve as harbingers of the relaxed, hospitable charm that Rendezvous’s staff exudes. An attractive custom-made counter-high bar resides to our right, while an open-air dining room ushers us is on the left. A rotating wait staff took our orders, knowledgably responded to our questions (although the first waiter failed to mention that one entrée contained milk when someone from our party identified her dairy allergy; thankfully, the next waitress in the rotation brought this to our attention prior to ordering) and provided strong recommendations. Nary a wine nor water glass went unfilled all evening. Most importantly, Johnson’s staff allowed us – like a fine wine resting on one’s palate – to linger and enjoy a well-paced meal.

Appetizers ($8-14) provided a strong beginning to our meal. Seared sea scallops ($12) – four in total – were perfectly cooked, and the accompanying preserved lemon and black olive vinaigrette complimented the fish well. Equally good was the vegetable antipasto with roasted eggplant puree and muhummara ($12). It’s certainly a pretty plate to admire, though there’s a tad too much going on with the dish. I’d have foregone the slaw, beets, or anything antipasto and been content merely spreading the puree and heavenly muhummara (red pepper spread) atop the exquisitely fresh slices of bread (some of the best I’ve sampled in recent memory).

Entrees ($16-28) were equally enticing in terms of Johnson’s playfulness with ingredients. Take, for instance, his highly acclaimed braised pork and veal meatballs ($25). While the four large meatballs weren’t as tender as I had hoped, they were extremely tasty and well seasoned, their flavor enhanced by chicken broth, sautéed maitake mushrooms, kale leaves, and grated paive cheese. Like the aforementioned appetizers, this dish is lovely to look at. What transports it, however, is Johnson’s bold, yet unassuming technique. He fries tiny ears of orecchiette pasta in olive oil until they’re crisped and golden brown on the edges. It’s a finely executed, surprising take on your traditional meatball dish. Even better is the Gascon-style duck three ways ($26). While the sliced breast was tasty, it was a tad underseasoned for my liking. Both the garlic sausage and particularly the confit duck, however, were the duet that ultimately made this trio sing. I’ve never had skate, but the skillet-roasted version served with broccoli rabe, meyer lemon and hazelnut butter was perfectly cooked, surprisingly complex in taste given its simplicity, and will have me looking for this fish in my local supermarket.

Do not, under any circumstances, pass up dessert here. Praiseworthy dishes include their signature lemon-buttermilk pudding ($7), served cakelike in a beautiful pool of huckleberry sauce. Let’s put it this way: a dining companion of ours, renowned for his painstakingly slow pace of eating, nearly devoured the entire plate before I was able to lift my fork. The same problem presented itself with an ultra-moist, airy pineapple and pomegranate upside-down cake with vanilla bean ice cream ($8). These unique spins on dessert were pure comfort food bliss and made for a most memorable finale to our evening.

Rendezvous boasts an impressive, well-stocked wine list (nearly fifty bottles of both reds and whites) from Italian, Spanish and French regions (with a handful of each from the West Coast). A half dozen complex cocktails adorn the menu, while the refreshing non-alcoholic Gulab Sharbatt (a tall glass of soda water infused with pomegranate, cardamom, lemon, and topped with rose petals) is attractive on the eyes and even better gong down.

For its unpretentious, inspired, and relatively affordable cuisine, alongside its (once again) unpretentious, noteworthy service, Rendezvous is a place you want to keep hidden just for yourself. In fact, it’s somewhat surprising that it hasn’t garnered the attention of more upscale, expensive nearby spots like Salts or Craigie on Main. And yet, I sense that’s just the way chef/owner Johnson wants things. “How was your experience here this evening?” he inquired as he brings our coats. “We had a lovely evening,” I respond. A warm, wide smile extends across Johnson’s face, as of to imply that he’s glad our rendezvous out to his establishment has been considered a success. My only problem now? Keeping this a secret.

Dining Under the Tuscan Sun at Siena

2011-02-28T08:21:00.000-08:00

What better way to experience the culinary wonders of Tuscany, Italy than by way of Providence, RI? Seriously. Siena, located in the heart of Federal Hill on Atwells Ave, delivers finely executed dishes which are heavily influenced by the Tuscan region. Six years after the restaurant’s opening, owners Anthony and Chris Tarro, who grew up in Warwick, RI, have transformed their passion for authentic Italian food and created a menu constituted of what they term Tuscan soul food. Consistently voted Best Restaurant by RI Monthly Readers’ poll, does Siena live up to its esteemed billing?

Siena’s ambience is as warm as Tuscany’s climate. The dimly-lit restaurant’s color scheme includes walls splashed with terra cotta red, yellow, orange, brown, and green hues. An elongated bar with cheetah print seats welcomes customers inside, while a relaxed back room provides a more private, intimate setting.

The Tarro brothers take authentic Tuscan cuisine seriously. Much of their cuisine utilizes regional ingredients such as beans and olive oil, while also incorporating unique cooking methods such as wood grilling.

Appetizers, which average $7-16, were relatively strong. Funghi Portabello ai Ferri ($9) included two generous, meaty grilled portabello mushroom caps baked with goat cheese, caramelized onions, roasted peppers, and crispy pancetta wheels, whose saltiness nicely balanced the cheese’s tartness. It’s a gorgeously executed and well-plated dish. Equally impressive was a visually stunning Caprese salad ($10), which included yellow and red tomatoes stacked high with mozzarella cheese, basil and baby arugula while topped with gorgonzola cheese and balsamic reduction. Zuppa di Vongole Bianco ($10) included littleneck clams sautéed in a white wine, garlic, and fresh herb broth. While the crustaceans were well cooked, the excessively salty broth rendered the garlic crostini unsuitable for dipping.

Generous portions of pasta can be had for very reasonable prices ($17-19). Schiaffoni del Calzolaio ($17) may not have been all that pretty to look at (the tubular shaped pasta are limply layered atop one another), but the combination of ground sausage, San Marzano tomatoes, white wine, crushed red pepper, herbs, and Pecorino-Romano sauce made for a complex, satisfying dish.

Chicken and pork dishes range from $15-19, while Carni (meat) dishes run from $19-29. Costoletta di Vitello ($29) included a heaping 16 oz. wood-grilled veal chop with crimini mushroom, sherry, and veal demi-glaze. Overall, the dish was more than adequate, although I personally didn’t taste the level of smokiness and char that usually accompanies these types of dishes. The meat was also a tad fatty and could have benefitted from a side of starch as opposed to green beans (albeit tasty ones). The Mazo di Giusepe ($29) featured a 16 oz. Black Angus sirloin with sea salt and grilled over hardwood charcoal. The tender meat was perfectly flavored and cooked, and benefitted from a drizzle of Tuscan olive oil as well as a pouring of warm gorgonzola cream sauce. Creative sides that serve 2-4 customers ($4/9) include Pisseli e Prosciutto, tender baby peas sautéed with Prosciutto di Parma.

Desserts (all $7) include Scripelle con Gelato, which features two miniature fried doughboys dusted with cinnamon sugar and served with vanilla bean gelato and warm Nutella spread. It’s a fun, comforting delicious treat. Siena also serves up its popular Budino di Panettone, bread pudding with Italian almond panetone (sweet bread) and served with amaretto, bourbon, brown sugar, and butter glaze.

Cocktails range from $8-10, and two standouts include a potent housemade sangria ($8) and a sparkling grape martini ($9), which blends grape vodka, proscecco, and cranberry juice. Siena also boasts an extensive wine list revolving around approximately fifty reds and another fifty whites from multiple countries and regions including Italy, France, New Zealand, Australia, Sonoma, and Napa. Most wines are reasonably priced ($35-50), while others veer to moderate price points ($85-95). Half bottles ($26-49) are also available, while handfuls of Interesting Red and White wines are promoted.

Service was excellent. Our meal was well paced, while our server was extremely knowledgeable, patient, and amiable.

Overall, Siena scores high for value. Its cuisine is better than much of what is produced in Boston’s North End, at only a fraction of the cost. Complimentary valet parking only boosts the restaurant’s stock. You may not be dining directly under the Tuscan sun at Siena, but it is certainly close enough.

Incontro Lacks the Midas Touch

2011-02-07T06:36:00.000-08:00

Incontro, Franklin’s acclaimed upscale/casual restaurant and lounge, had plenty of hype to live up to prior to my arrival. Glowing testimonials from family and friends alike heightened both my anticipation level and taste buds, and I was cautiously excited about sampling its regionally inspired Italian cuisine.

Incontro’s ambience can be best described as uniquely modern, only because the venue itself resides in the newly restored Brookdale Mill, which was originally constructed in 1883. An expansive 14,000 square foot space is set on two floors, the second of which boasts an intimate lounge area – plush leather seats included – encompassing a sleek, elongated bar that leads into a large billiards area. The scene here shouts trendy/casual: it’s a place where people want to be seen but let their hair down all at once. A more formal setting awaits downstairs in the main dining room (or as Incontro’s owners fancily label it, the meeting room), which features a display kitchen in which diners can view their food being prepared.

For starters, the crispy calamari were well executed and drizzled with lemon aioli, pine nuts, kalamata olives, and hot peppers. A tad less aioli and a small infusion of peppers would have better balanced the otherwise finely prepared dish to an even higher standard. Pistachio encrusted boar (resembling two large pieces of KFC but oh, so much more appealing) came with a trio of sweet and spicy dipping sauces and was a standout dish. The meat was moist and tender, whereas many versions come out gamey and tough. The dish evoked a couple of “Mmm, this is delicious,” moments from our dining companions. So far, so good.

Entrees, however, surprisingly fared far worse. My maple glazed pork ($24) came highly recommended by our server, but I found the meat to be woefully overcooked, dry, and oversalted, almost eliminating any semblance of maple flavor on the palate. A shame, given that the accompanying crispy green beans and heavenly light sweet potato mashed were winning sides. Our friends’ steaks (one filet mignon Oscar and a sirloin strip) were cooked to my liking of medium rare. The only problem was that both had requested theirs cooked medium. Clearly, Incontro’s kitchen staff that evening was not well educated on the importance of Meat Preparation 101.

Dessert offered up a small reprieve. A generous slice of carrot cake was moist, not too dense, and possesses a pleasant, not overpoweringly sweet cream cheese frosting. My molten chocolate cake was decadent and gooey enough, although not any more memorable than countless versions I’d previously consumed. The biggest disappointment of the dessert was the fig gelato, which had more hints of coffee flavor to it than fig. The faint traces of fig I was able to detect were located in a small, isolated area of the gelato jammed with figs.

Service was good but far from exceptional. Water glasses were routinely filled and plates hastily removed by competent and polite busboys, while our server was affable enough. But our waitress faltered on a key recommendation (the aforementioned pork dish) and it was one of the busboys, not the server, who responded to a dairy inquiry on the calamari only after it was served tableside.
On its website, Incontro’s owners, Bridge Restaurant Group, claims that its prices are reasonable enough to attract repeat business. With cocktails averaging $11, wines from $9-15, most appetizers exceeding $12 and entrees ranging from $25-50, that statement is certainly up for debate, particularly given its suburban setting (although complimentary valet parking does help a bit). For these prices, Paul’s Palate expects a feast for a king. On my restaurant royalty scale, however, Incontro’s fare is just that: fair, food fit not for a king, but more for a prince, perhaps even a pauper. Despite its glamorous setting, it is Incontro’s failures in the kitchen that prevent the restaurant’s glitter from translating into gourmet gold.

Here is a ‘LaStoria’ Worth Telling

2011-01-31T07:32:00.000-08:00

The owners of LaStoria Trattoria in Stoughton, MA certainly aren’t bashful. On their homepage, they state that their establishment ‘is not your usual “Red Sauce” Italian restaurant.” Only a few years ago, however, their menu read like one: wood-grilled pizzas, veal marsala, eggplant parmiagiano, blah, blah, blah. While the food was often solidly executed, it was rarely adventurous, and I ultimately found myself attracted to newer restaurants that prepared dishes with bolder ingredients and flavors. LaStoria, sadly, became an afterthought in the ever-changing restaurant industry.

When my in-laws mentioned that they had recently re-visited this Italian eatery and raved about its distinctly different menu, I decided to give LaStoria a second chance. To my surprise, I discovered that the menu – which had always boasted dishes from all regions of Italy including Sicily, Napoli, Roma, Calabria, Firenze, and Venice – was finally making good on its promise to deliver an inspiring variety of food true to its roots.

Adding affordable piattini (little plates) to the menu was a stroke of genius. Ranging from $3.50-6.50, these unique Italian style tapas include prosciutto crostini with gig glaze ($5), fried goat cheese stuffed green olives ($3.50), and truffled “Mac n Cheese” ($6.50). We opt for the equally enticing antipasti, particularly the creative scampi e Fagioli “al Forno” ($9.50), which features four plump prosciutto wrapped shrimp atop crispy spinach (comparable to kale) and a sinfully delectable white bean puree (which also accompanies complimentary fresh foccacia bread). On paper, the smorgasbord of flavors here sounds questionable at best, but on plate, it’s a hugely successful dish. Like much of LaStoria’s revamped menu, it’s a wildly pleasant surprise.

The menu is also broken out into traditional pasta dishes ($11-18), LaStoria Classici (including aforementioned marsala and parmesiana style dishes ($15-19), and more daring specialty pasta (including zucca tortellini e Cape Sante, which includes pumpkin filled pasta, maple glazed sea scallops, roast butternut squash, sage and cream for $17) and second dishes. Of the latter, Arista Griglia ($17) boasts perfectly grilled pork tenderloin drizzled with a just-sweet-enough apple cider glaze reduction, accompanied by sweet potato mashed and green beans. I gravitate towards the evening’s special, a generous serving of ultra-tender, fall-off-the-bone veal ossco bucco ($18). The meal is noteworthy for its restraint in terms of incorporating a subtle tomato relish sauce so as not to overpower the meat’s flavor. My one complaint? A blasé side of garlic soaked pasta had me yearning for a more hearty starch such as mushroom risotto. A rum-soaked dessert of tiramisu, however, quickly washed any complaints away. It packed the perfect amount of liquour and texture (neither too dense nor too light) and was light years ahead of its flavorless predecessor years back.

LaStoria also serves a wide assortment of wines and a unique selection of seasonal cocktails including carrot cake (with butter shots) and key lime martinis. As we wait for our tables, the bartender forewarns me that the Hot Apple Cider martini packs quite a wallop, and it does. The rums contained therein, however, overpower the cider flavor, rendering this also only lukewarm cocktail virtually undrinkable. Faring significantly better, however, is the espresso martini, a sweet, caffeinated concoction that excels where other versions (either too creamy or too much alcohol over espresso) have miserably failed.

LaStoria’s space is relatively small and sometimes cramped (you can practically talk with your neighbors at the next table), but this often lends well to a more intimate meal. Service was more than adequate, if not great. Our waitress was genial and knowledgeable enough, though an extra visit or two to inquire about our meal or re-fill water glasses would have sufficed. A cappuccino came out well after my tiramisu had been consumed, though accompanied by a sincere apology from our server.

But that’s why consumers pay exorbitant prices at more glamorous, upscale restaurants. I’ll take the high quality fare and incredible value (no entrees exceeding $20) that this quaint little Italian restaurant offers, thank you very much. By exchanging its red sauce roots for more sophisticated dishes, this LaStoria is writing a brand new chapter in its stories history. Count me in once again as a loyal reader – I mean, eater.

Masona Grill Too Good to Keep a Secret

2011-01-03T09:25:00.001-08:00

Have you ever dined at a local neighborhood eating haunt that is simply so breathtakingly and surprisingly good that you want to keep it all to yourself? Typically, I’m good at keeping these places under wraps, but West Roxbury’s Masona Grill has had me breaking my customary silence to family and friends. Tucked away on Corey Street, across from a T stop, Executive Chef/Owner Manuel ‘Manny’ Sifnugel’s establishment is not only one of Greater Boston’s hidden jewels, but one of its finest restaurants as well.

Sifnugel, former proprietor of the highly regarded Claremont Café in Boston’s South End, opened up Masona Grill in 2006. His eclectic cuisine can best be described as New American with Mediterranean influences. Born in Peru, traces of South America ingredients adorn several of his dishes (chimichurri brushed atop steak, oregano, et cetera…). Other vibrant, welcomed ingredients such as cilantro and cumin are also freely used.

The ambience is as lively as the food. Colorful artwork (large oil paintings), chocolate covered walls, contemporary light fixtures (including tea lights), hardwood floors, and circular and square-shaped tables (my wife and I sat on dark tan leather banquettes with a view of the street) create an upscale, yet relaxed atmosphere. There is also a marble bar, whereby patrons can view Sifnugel and his staff cooking in the kitchen. Up-tempo and Brazilian jazz music gently play throughout our meal. Named after Sifnugel’s three daughters (Marcella, Sofia, and Natalia, whose black and white pictures instantly greet diners upon entering through velvet curtains), Masona Grill accomplishes a near miraculous feat: it’s the rare establishment that possesses just the right amount of hipness to coincide with its ability to make you feel like you’re eating the ultimate, most intimate home-cooked meal.

For starters, lobster taquitos ($11) were divine. Never mind that they were served as bona-fide open-faced tacos (taquitos should take the form of cigar-shaped mounds, akin to those we sampled at Caribe in Barbados). The freshness and abundance of the crustacean was impressive, while the cucumber, radish, pickled red onions, and sour cream provided a nice contrast to the sweetness of the lobster. Crispy oysters ($10) were nearly as good, served with a zesty tomato remoulade and mango salsa. My one minor quibble was that the dish also came with the same, unannounced trio of cucumber, radish, and pickled onion that accompanied our previous first course, which made for some redundancy.

Entrees fared even better. My wife’s Latin stew ($27) was packed with a variety of fish including lobster, scallops, calamari, came with a delectably spicy broth, and even included small chunks of two favorites items of mine: chorizo and yucca. One very minor problem with the dish was its inclusion of what can best be described as corn on the cob. It was a non-traditional, overly starchy, inedible object. Otherwise, the dish on the whole was well executed. My coffee rubbed sirloin steak was a steal at $26. Perfectly cooked medium rare and innovatively served with chimichurri, the dish was a true standout. When asking our server what made the accompanying potatoes and grilled zucchini and tomatoes so delicious, he remarked that Sifnugel added oregano to the mix. This is a meal I’d confidently match up against any of Boston’s best. I’m still having dreams about how well this cut of meat was prepared.

About a half dozen, well-selected, reasonably priced bottles each of red and white wines ($29-55/bottle, $7-9/glass) adorn the menu. Desserts are also well priced at $7, particularly the sinfully sweet, warmed pecan pie served with house made Guinness ice cream.

While the food is memorable at Masona Grill, it’s the service that is truly exceptional and what elevates our meal to unforgettable status. Having booked our reservation through Open Tables, our server immediately acknowledged our special anniversary we were celebrating, in addition to paying close attention to my wife’s dairy allergy. The meal was extremely well-paced. Upon inquiring about which red wine to pair with my entrée, the server recommended a Malbec, paused for a moment, and then offered to bring samples of both the Malbec and the house Cabernet. Who does that nowadays? In lieu of coffee with my dessert, he suggested I try a port wine ($8), which, he stated, would perfectly balance the nuttiness of the pecan pie (which it did, of course). Getting back to my wife’s dairy allergy, the server came up at one point during our meal and provided us with information on how to prepare a non-dairy equivalent of cheese. Sifnugel himself even went out of his way to call the pastry chef on his cell phone and find out if the seasonal fruit crisp was non-dairy. Unpretentious, overly accommodating touches such as these make Masona Grill a truly special place.

As we leave, my wife and I are warmly greeted by Sifnugel. We are the last patrons to leave for the evening. Has it already been 2 ½ hours since we arrived? The owner shoots the breeze with us, discussing his past, his family, and his love for food. It’s as if he doesn’t want us to go. Neither do we, because it feels as if we’re already home.

Davio’s Gives Patriotic Effort in Foxborough

2010-08-23T10:01:00.000-07:00

Owner Steve DiFillippo sure knew what he was doing when he expanded his beloved Northern Italian Steakhouse, Davio’s, from Boston into the suburbs. After all, why not expand his culinary empire into Patriot Place, the shopping plaza built adjacent to the hallowed grounds of a football dynasty? The sheer size of the restaurant almost keeps up with the seating capacity at the Gillette stadium, accommodating an eye-popping 350 patrons.

Our large party was seated in an intimate, rotund-spaced private room, which made for pleasant people watching given the al-fresco dining outside. Davio’s interior as a whole is impressive, from its warm, inviting brown hues to its magnificent cathedral ceilings and its expansive bar and lounge. The décor evokes grandeur, but with a hint of restraint. Mooo…., KO Prime, Grill 23, this is not.

Our cocktails are generous and well prepared, particularly the house-made sangria. Often times, the Burgundy wine flavor is lost amidst all of the juices thrown into this type of concoction. Here, the wine takes center stage, well balanced with the other liquors and juices. My wife’s cocktail, prepared with Kiwi and Sprite, was light and refreshing, a perfect, innovative summer drink. A platter containing four varieties of freshly baked breads, including wonderfully tasty pesto, is brought out to the table with an equally interesting selection of spreads, including roasted eggplant and goat cheese.

The cocktails also go down well with an array of appetizers, including crispy fried clams served with delectable housemade chips and a spicy remoulade sauce ($14). Crispy fried calamari with hot cherry peppers and spicy aioli ($12) pack welcomed, subtle heat. At Davio’s, fried seafood - unlike at many similar establishments - is surprisingly one of its strongsuits. The seafood we sample is not too rubbery and possesses just the right amount of crispiness. A side of sautéed green beans with crispy pancetta ($8) was tasty, if not a tad too spicy.

Entrees are equally strong. One eating companion orders the spaghettini, which includes generous chunks of Maine lobster, sun dried tomato, and creamy basil pesto ($26). Although the prospect of ‘creamy basil pesto’ paired with lobster initially frightened me away from ordering this dish, after sampling a couple of forkfuls, it was no wonder that she was unwilling to part with any additional bites. The pasta was well cooked and the pesto sauce was delicious and surprisingly light. It’s an odd mismatch of ingredients that somehow works. Even better was the gorgonzola crusted prime top sirloin, seared perfectly on the outside, cooked medium rear, topped with gorgonzola cream and accompanied by an otherwordly organic mushroom risotto. For only $29, this generous cut of quality meat was an outrageous bargain. With the exception of a side of far-too-salty-baby spinach on another companion’s dish, the presentation, size, and taste of all entrees were all top-notch. The maccheroni alla chitarra, with shrimp, pancetta, hot cherry peppers, and arugula lemon oil ($24) was another satisfying pasta dish.

Desserts provided a nice conclusion to the evening. Baby cakes – Davio’s take on the warm chocolate molten – were well cooked, if not as dense and gooey as I had hoped. The best dessert, hands-down, was the warmed strawberry rhubarb tort. The flakiness of the dough paired with succulent fruit was heavenly.

Service was respectable, though given such high price points here (i.e. a grilled porterhouse veal chop runs $46, while several steaks run into the $40s and even $50s), one would expect it to be flawless. While our server was only one week into her job, she was genial, surprisingly knowledgeable of the menu (even making recommendations), and attentive while at our table. Minor snafus, which reflected more upon the busboys more so than with our waitress, included a dining companion having to request steak sauce and a coffee refill on more than one occasion. Now in its third year at Patriots Place, one would think that such basic service glitches as these would have worked themselves out by now.

If there were one minor quibble overall with the menu, it’s that it is a bit unorganized and overly expansive, making it difficult to navigate and order at times. For instance, some of the appetizers (and several entrees) are separated out and appear on the Classici section (Davio’s staple dishes since the restaurant’s inception, though this is not explained on the menu). A variety of spring rolls even have their own section unto themselves (Marchi). What does Davio’s pride itself on – steak, seafood, pasta – all of the above? It’s as if the restaurant wants to be all things to everyone, and is a bit too schizophrenic for my taste.

Beggars, however, cannot be choosers. Davio’s pleasantly delivers on several levels. Its ambience and its food make it a welcomed addition to the South Shore dining scene. Is it the Super Bowl of fine dining? Not at all, but DiFillippo and his staff score a touchdown in Paul’s Palate’s book.

Carmen in North End is Secret Worth Keeping

2010-07-19T11:34:00.000-07:00

Located just around the corner from bustling Hanover Street in Boston’s North End, blink and you might miss Carmen amongst the countless neighborhood Italian restaurants. Pity, since this charming, romantic hideaway whips up some of the finest upscale Italian cuisine the North End has to offer.

Carmen’s interior is intimately smug. A mini bar is located up front, while brick walls, low lighting, and arms-length wine racks create an Old World ambience.

Small plates from the wine bar (all reasonably priced at $6) include a generous portion of wonderfully fresh marinated mushrooms with smoked bacon and sherry vinegar. The grilled asparagus with truffle vinaigrette and pecorino we sample, however, is quite bland in flavor. First courses are uniquely prepared and impressive. Homemade ravioli of braised short rib, herbed goat cheese, and sage brown butter ($14) is heavenly, featuring pillowy pasta tubes doused in a subtly rich, but not-too heavy reduction. Spice cured beef tenderloin with arugula, parmigiano, lemon vinaigrette, and aged balsamic ($15) contains thinly sliced strips of meat that are surprisingly crisp and slightly candied in flavor (do I detect a hint of licorice?) It’s an oddly appealing, inspiring dish sure to hover in one’s mind (and on one’s palate) long after the meal’s completion. The same can be said for a perfectly executed grilled flatbread with caramelized onions, grapes, walnuts, robiola cheese, and aged balsamic ($15). Its crust is beautifully crisped and the pie strikes a perfect balance between sweet and tart.

Don’t miss the handmade pastas, which include a non-traditional Italian version of a French crepe – called a crespelle – stuffed with porcini mushrooms and caramelized onions, topped with Carmen’s famous Bolognese sauce ($20). While the presentation left little to the imagination (more closely resembling a Sloppy Joe than a crepe), the dish was flavorful and satisfying (albeit a bit too heavy given the summer season). For entrees, seared sea scallops with sweet corn, pancetta, and shrimp risotto, served alongside carrot puree ($29) were fresh and light, although the accompanying risotto and puree did nothing to accentuate the flavor of the fish. The slow roasted rack of pork with roasted acorn squash, braised escarole, and spicy mustard sauce ($26) was unanimously voted as the strongest entrée of the lot. The meat was perfectly cooked (not overly dry, which happens far too frequently in restaurants nowadays) and the mustard sauce packed a sweet and spicy (once again, that candied flavor) wallop. Due to limited space at Carmen, dessert is not offered (no problem for us, as we headed one block north to Hanover Street and ordered delectable cannolis at Modern Pastry).

Our server was genial, knowledgeable of the menu, attentive, and accommodating (i.e. she requested that the kitchen serve half of the flatbread without cheese due to my wife’s dairy allergy). Glasses of wine and water were frequently filled without raising a finger. Speaking of wine, Carmen’s list is extensive (roughly twenty bottles of white and sixty reds, each broken out by region and reasonably priced). House-made seasonal white sangria ($18/litre), about which our eating companions had previously raved, is rather dull, but did help stave off the unbearably hot environment (dining on a hot summer evening at most any North End establishment will pose the same problem given that the majority of them have open-air dining).

Overall, Carmen was a memorable dining experience. It may not carry the lofty nametag or reputation of other neighborhood heavyweights such as Mare or Prezza, but its delectable fare is more reasonably priced and its atmosphere emphasizes romance over flash, substance over style. This is a place to hide from the throngs of ravenous people crowding Hanover Street. It may not be possible, but Paul’s Palate would like to keep this seductive, secretive dining destination all to himself.

Lucca Back Bay a Hit-or-Miss Dining Spot

2010-05-20T06:37:00.000-07:00

When owners Ted Kennedy, and Matthew and Sean Williams’s decided to expand its North End’s dining hotspot Lucca into the Back Bay last year, Sasso came to be. Evidently, the fancy name didn’t take, as the restaurant is now simply called Lucca Back Bay. Neither did the original chef, David Ross, who was replaced by formidable chef Anthony Mazzotta, he of nationally renowned restaurants of which you may have heard (California’s French Laundry and New York’s Per Se). And yet, when it comes to local publicity of its finest Italian restaurants, Lucca Back Bay is almost always excluded from the conversation. Paul’s Palate trekked over to the Huntington Avenue location (lodged between the Colonnade and Marriott Copley Hotels) to investigate why.

Lucca Back Bay aims high for ambience, and mostly hits its mark. A snazzy little bar with some tables for nibbling on bar bites appears to the left, while an elegant, modern dining room, painted in warm brown hues and providing some great street-viewing outside, is to our right. A long marble staircase leading up to the kitchen, however, seems strangely askew. In fact, after awkwardly attempting to find my way to the rest rooms, whose entranceway was initially pitch black, the deeply embarrassed maitre’d apologized for some of his servers who apparently had bumped into switches upstairs connected to this area on multiple occasions. Though the establishment boasts an impressive décor, minute details such as these prevent Lucca from taking its rightful place atop the classy scale – a la Mistral or Sorrelina.

Mazzotta’s menu changes seasonally, depending on what Italian regional fare tickles his fancy. And like Lucca’s ambience, his food options are typically on the mark. For starters, though, the vitello tonnato ($16) is an utter disappointment. The thinly sliced veal carpaccio is barely discernible, as is the bland tuna tartare, which is rolled into unappealing ball-like shapes. The accoutrements sound enticing – grain mustard remoulade, tiny croutons, pickled ramps, cucumber, radish, and watercress – but they add very little flavor or texture to the dish. On the other hand, Mazzato’s Point Judith calamari ($13) are nothing short of sensational, creatively sauteed with a delectable agro dolce tomato sauce and eggplant. Pasta dishes are Mazzotta’s forte, as evidenced by his superb house-made tagliatelle con pollo ($22), whose blend of perfectly cooked pasta, confit chicken, panecetta, preserved lemon, watercress, and toasted pistachios elevates this bright, lively dish into the canon of all-time great pastas. Four thick, moist seared George Bank scallops ($36) adorn my wife’s dish, but aside from a delicious garnish of turnip puree, sautéed spinich, and confit lobster mushrooms almost hiding underneath the seafood, the plate is practically bare, nary an accompaniment to be had. It were as if we were re-living the commercial in which the couple goes out to a fine dining establishment only to discover miniscule, bordering on pretentious food portion sizes. My wife leans over, secretly pointing to her dish, and whispers, “Is that all there is?” Surely, this cannot happen at a place like Lucca, can it?

Save for a missed water glass, service was consistent and amiable. Our waiter was pleasant and quite knowledgeable of the restaurant’s wine and food selections.

As evidenced by its ambience, service, and food, Lucca Back Bay, like a good-but-not-great baseball player, frequently swings for the fences but more often settles for ground-rule doubles. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but in today’s competitive culinary world and challenging economic climate – where repeat business is critical - perfection is everything. Given Luccca’s moderately high price points ($13 cocktails, $11-16 antipasti, $22-24 pasta dishes, $26-36 entrees, $10 desserts), expectations need to be tempered here. Musician Suzanne Vega once sang about a character named Luka living on the second floor. This particular Lucca yearns for the penthouse, but like the central figure in Vega’s song, delivers above average, but slightly pedestrian results.

Italy by Way of Belmont? Il Casale Comes Close

2010-04-19T08:47:00.000-07:00

You’d have to practically live on Italy’s Amalfi Coast (and who wouldn’t want to?) not to recognize Dante de Magistris’s name amongst Boston’s most revered and exciting chefs. His flagship restaurant, Dante, offers up more upscale, sexy Italian fare in Cambridge’s Royal Sonesta Hotel, and opened to rave reviews a few years back. Fortunately for us suburbanites, de Magistris, along with father, Leon and brothers Damian and Filippo, have scaled things back (bringing un-sexy back?) by recently opening up an establishment in his hometown of Belmont, which serves up more traditional, family-style Italian inspired fare conjured up from his nonna’s (grandmother) recipe book. This isn’t Clio, folks: whereas chef Ken Oringer’s gastronomical dishes are expensively ambitious, de Magistris’s cuisine, like the restaurant’s name (a house in the Italian countryside) achieves affordable simplicity.

If it’s ambience you’re after, il Casale won’t disappoint (unless, of course, you’re seeking out that remote house in the Italian countryside). The restaurant, situated in quaint Belmont center, resides in a converted firehouse. Brick walls, exposed beams, high ceilings, chandeliers, and muted lighting make for a romantic, trendy décor. Dark curtains separate the large bar from the dining room and open kitchen. Lively, good-looking crowds are in abundance, cheerily sipping on cocktails and consuming their meals. Lest we forget we’re in Belmont, not New York City.

At il Casale, family-style dining is the order of the day. Aptly named after Italian race cars, though far more affordable, the Fiat ($35) includes four courses while the Ferrari ($60) offers five courses plus sfizi (small bites).

Speaking of reasonably-priced, the sfizi are a steal at $5 apiece. While every local food critic under t sun raved about the maiale (pork meatballs), I was slightly disappointed by their blandness. They were neither filled with nearly enough mozzarella nor succulent, despite de Magistris’s innovate technique of preparing the meatballs in a pig’s head reduction sauce. Far more intriguing, and simple for that matter, was the traditional carne version, cooked in pure tomato sugo (sauce) and sprinkled with cheese. Old standbys arancini (porcini risotto rice balls with scamorza and tomato sauce) and pomodoro (tomato bruschetta with garlic and Silician oregano) were once again simply prepared yet simply divine. Amongst the entire sfizi offerings, however, the burrata – a buttery mozzarella from Apulia served with Monini olive oil and candied pistachios, was pure bliss: a perfectly balanced dish blending the cheese’s tartness with milky, nutty sweetness.

Entrees offer equal value and quality, none whose price point exceeds $26 (pastas top out at $21). Dante’s nonna, I’m sure, slaved over her pasta dishes, so why not sample one for ourselves? Illustrative of de Magistris’s attentiveness to using fresh, seasonal ingredients, gnocchi ($21) are light, pillowy dumplings served ‘primavera’ style, including a pink porcini sauce and a spring vegetable ragout that includes favas, peas, and asparagus. The secondi dishes are also strong, including the pizzaiola, a slow-braised skirt steak layered with tomato-oregano sugo, where the meat is both perfectly cooked and melt-in-your-mouth good.

A half dozen moderately-priced red and white wines ($9-14/glass) adorn the menu, as do a dozen interesting, adeptly prepared cocktails which range from $8-12. A refreshing, Bellini-like Pear cider ($10) blends cider, pear cognac, and prosecco to perfection.

Be sure to save room for dessert. A traditional tiramisu is thankfully light and packs a healthy dose of gran marnier. The frittelle, however, is worth shouting back to Italy about. Venetian style fried dough, served as beignet-style pieces, are accompanied by a warm chocolate fonduta dipping sauce. The plating of this dish might not be overly inspiring, but as with the lionshare of dishes at il Casale, it’s the flavors that take center stage.

Service is exceptional. Our server never once blinks when questioned about the menu, and seemed to have an innate ability to pare dishes with wines based on our table’s preferences and tastes. He demonstrated a refined enthusiasm over the kitchen’s cuisine, which in turn elevated the quality of our dining experience.

I’ll happily reserve a spot at the deMagistris family table and consume their nonna’s delectable cuisine. After all, il Casale, tucked just far enough away from the bright lights of that big city, Boston, proves that you can, after all, go home for a great meal.

El Oriental de Cuba Brings Little (Bites of) Havana into Jamaica Plain

2010-04-19T05:35:00.000-07:00

Poor foreign relations may have always prevented Fidel Castro from frequenting the United States, but perhaps the intoxicating aromas and flavors emanating from a wonderful, little restaurant situated in Jamaica Plain just might entice him here. El Oriental de Cuba, founded in 1994, offers up some of the finest authentic Cuban cuisine north of Miami.

Don’t fret about the restaurant’s interior. The front-to-back setting doesn’t allow for seating parties of more than six, and not a high chair in the establishment had functional seat fasteners for children. The service, though certainly friendly, is a tad too leisurely (more like Caribbean-team), as waters were poured and orders taken nearly fifteen minutes after seating.

But let’s face it: it’s not the ambience you’re after here, but rather, the delectable cuisine. For starters, you’ll find a variety of savory soups and stews, including a marvelously hearty take on traditional seafood stew with rice ($8.95). The beef patty ($2.50), served empanada style, was a revelation: a flaky exterior packed with tender minced meat whose flavor is enhanced by a variety of secret spices. Fried sweet plantains ($1.95) were equally good, with a crème-brulee-like exterior and a heavenly gooey center. While others in my party raved about the octopus salad, I found the fish’s texture too tough, with zero rubberiness and give, and the abundance of vegetables surprisingly added little flavor to the dish.

Entrees fared equally well. While whole red snapper in spicy sauce ($16.95) proved to be a dull disappointment, the shrimp in garlic sauce with mofongo ($16.95) was playfully presented and perfectly prepared. Upon initial glance, El Oriental de Cuba’s Cuban sandwich may sound less appealing than more exciting options that include drunken goat and rabo (braised oxtail). But listen closely to the locals, and they’ll swear by this sandwich, and for good reason. It is served on an airy, baguette-like bread, layered with succulent strips of pork, and lathered with a special sauce, along with traditional ingredients of mustard and pickles. I dare any restaurant’s imitations to match the simplistic, yet optimal flavor of El Oriental’s standout version. And don’t forget to wash all of your meal down with one of the restaurant’s revered tropical shakes ($3.00). They are blended with milk or water, and given the wonderful potency and richness of the fruits, the former ingredient need not be required. Guanabana (semi-tart and semi-sweet) and horchata (rice and banana creating a mild chocolate flavor) are unique and exceptionally good.

Prior to entering this establishment, I discovered that El Oriental de Cuba’s location was firebombed a few years ago, only to re-open at the local residents’ insistence. Not only does that demonstrate the public’s acute sense of what qualifies for fine food, but also the owner’s sense of resiliency amidst hardship. I applaud this little restaurant-that-could as it continues to feed the masses. Count me amongst them.

Foodies Can Shop for Extravagant Tastes at Market

2010-01-20T07:05:00.000-08:00

Attention, shoppers. Upon hearing that world-renowned chef Jean-Georges Vongerichten – yes, he, the creator of the often imitated yet infrequently replicated warm chocolate cake – was bringing his culinary empire to Boston, it sparked a thought that maybe – just maybe – the culinary scene in Boston may finally be catching up to New York as one of the region’s (country’s?) most exciting dining destinations. Sure, Boston has its highly-regarded Ken Oringers, Michael Schlows, and Barbara Lynches, but their proprietary reach has yet to go international (can any of these chefs claim restaurants as their own overseas in places including British Columbia, Mexico and Qatar?). Located in the new, ultra-modern W Hotel at the corner of Stuart Street, this Market is not difficult to find.

Particularly as you enter its doors. The dining room’s decor oozes chicness, from its oversized windows, to its razor-thin, sleek lighting frozen in midair, to Asian-inspired touches including wood crevices along the ceiling. This is where good-looking, well-to-do individuals spend their time and money.

But Vongerichten’s cuisine – best described as comfort food meets gourmet - is what this shopper had on his to-do (to-eat) list, and shockingly enough, what was sampled presented a mixed bag of goodies. The tuna tartare with avocado, spicy radish and ginger dressing was surprisingly average, attributed to the rather bland texture of the tartare itself. The spicy radish atop the tuna provided a nice, crispy contrast, although the dressing’s flavor was a tad overpowering. In addition, the much-ballyhooed parmesan-encrusted organic chicken, served with artichokes and lemon-basil butter, was a disappointment. What promised to be a tender cut of chicken turned out slightly on the dry side (I’m crying fowl), and while the artichokes were a respectable accompaniment, the citrusy flavor emanating from the creative lemon-basil butter composition in which they were soaked was off-putting and did not mesh well with the dish. This is not to say that Vongerichten’s plates stumble miserably. Far from it, given his sky-high aspirations and unique usage of ingredients (other local chefs would kill to prepare these dishes). What can be ascertained from these dishes is that are merely good, not great. On the other hand, green apple crisp served in a warmed skillet with cinnamon ice cream was ultra-fresh, crumbly-good comfort food, particularly on a bleary, wintry New England afternoon.

Service was astute and prompt. Water glasses and napkins were promptly filled and folded, respectively. A slightly delayed house made soda was the lone blip, but after sipping on the bright yellow, passion chili concoction – which possessed a well-balanced sweetness and heat – all was forgiven.

Value is in line with equally esteemed dining establishments in the area. For lunch, soups and salads range from $8-13, pizza and sandwiches $9-16, appetizers $11-17, entrees faring very well at $18-23. The Market Lunch is a steal at $24 for 2 plates and dessert. Dinner prices are comparable, with only certain entrees reaching into $30 territory, while the Market Dinner is a king’s feast at 5 plates and dessert.

Although Paul’s Palate’s shopping/dining experience at Market proved to be a mild letdown, he’d be receptive to a return visit. After all, there were other highly lauded plates, such as sea urchin toast with yuzu and jalapeno, foie gras brule with spiced fig jam, seared shrimp with silky pumpkin emulsion, and the aforementioned chocolate cake that remained untasted. There’s more than enough culinary experimentation and variety at Market to make dining here both rewarding and dare-I-say, affordable. That should grab your attention, shoppers.

Hot off the 'Oven' Presses: Al Forno Impresses

2009-12-29T09:47:00.000-08:00

For nearly thirty years (January 2, 2010 will mark its three-decade anniversary), Al Forno in Providence, RI has served up some of Rhode Island’s finest Italian fare. The restaurant’s primary claim to fame, however, is its reputation as the original home of grilled pizza, created by husband-wife/chef-owner tandem Johanne Killeen and George Germon. Although furtively tucked away in a slightly remote waterfront location along South Main Street, Al Forno’s simple renditions of Italian food with a twist are difficult to miss.

Al Forno’s ambience, like its cuisine, is simple yet elegant. Although its interior extends to two levels (the second floor decked with stone tiles, bricks, mirrors, and wood, while the first floor is splashed with ivory and suspended corn stocks from the ceiling), the limited number of tables and their proximity to one another create the perfect romantic setting (one in which, I’m sure, many a weddings proposals have been popped). A line begins to form outside the restaurant as early as 5:30: apparently, this establishment is recession-proof. Or, perhaps, customers are lured by the intoxicating aromas emanating from the wood-burning ovens and grills over charcoal fires. Think Lady and the Tramp, particularly the classic scene in which the two dogs share the spaghetti strand and a kiss. There’s amore in the air at Al Forno. Our only minor quibble upon arrival: where to find the maitre’ d? After going on a scavenger hunt from the top floor to the bottom, we finally find the affable gentleman who promptly seats us.

Appetizers range from the famed grilled pizza margarita (or for the most daring type, try one cooked with sweet pumpkin) to grilled cod cakes with smashed avocado. While we’re initially disappointed in the owners’ lack of flexibility in terms of accommodating my wife’s dairy allergy when our request to have half the grilled pizza prepared with no cheese is rebuffed, I also admire them for sticking to their gourmet guns. After all, this pie is their piece-de-resistance, their claim to fame. What if Leonardo da Vinci removed the semblance of a smile from his masterpiece painting, Mona Lisa. The artist would never be able to view his art in the same way once it has been desecrated. To the initial observer’s eye, this might be viewed as stubborness verging upon arrogance, but given further consideration, Killeen and Germon’s decision is about maintaining the purity of their culinary vision. Al Forno makes amends by serving a generous portion of some of the most tender shreds of beef carpaccio we’ve tasted, beautifully presented with arugula salad and a not-too-heavy herb aoili reduction.

We reluctantly pass on the pastas – partially due to my wife’s allergy, partially because we’re saving room for dessert – though the selections sound wonderfully appealing. Take, for instance, shells baked with pumpkin, cream, pancetta and five cheeses, or the gnocci with bread crumbs, or linguine with creamy egg, duck bacon, and pea tendrils. We proceed to the less heavy wood-grilled selections, which include my wife’s succulent honey-glazed duck leg and grilled sausage. The sausage could stand on its own as a dish, packing a mild spiciness that is perfectly balanced by a wonderfully creative side of candied banana peppers. The pheasant is perfectly cooked, and the kitchen performs a small miracle by making even the less glamorous components of this dish shine, such as roasted broccoli and pomme frites with a tangy, addictive spicy catsup sauce. I typically shy away from inhaling aromas off of the plate – the only other time in recent memory was over a spiced lamb dish at Charlestown’s Tangierino – but those from my wood-roasted gorgonzola stuffed veal cutlets were potent enough to grab my nostrils’ attention. The tender veal is wrapped in wood-roasted homemade bacon – and who doesn’t like bacon? I certainly don’t, when it’s tragically over- or undercooked, charred to a crisp or limp like a dead flower. This rendition is far superior: think gourmet pigs in a smoked blanket. The bacon is unbelievably meaty and full of flavor. Gorgonzola oozes out and is perfect for sopping up the meat. While accompanying leeks and wild mushrooms were more of an afterthought, the pears are a sweet complement to the sourness of the cheese.

As for the house-made desserts, several of which are prepared for two, the number of and variety of selections was mind-boggling. Should we go for the grand cookie finale, toasted coconut ice cream, or warm chocolate filled crepes? Once again, due to my wife’s allergy (one limiting factor to this restaurant is that it is not lactose-friendly), we opt for the native pear and walnut tart. This concoction may very well be the most delectable we’ve ever sampled. The piping hot fruity insides, both fresh and refreshing while thankfully not overly sweet, are perfectly cooked into a slightly wood-charred crust. Take my word when I say that this signature dish puts any of your grandmother’s best pies to shame, one that warrants many returns to Al Forno, if not to sample several other varieties of tarts.

Service is exceptional. Our server is not only amiable and extremely knowledgeable of the menu, but also earns our admiration by deeply apologizing for the aforementioned grilled pizza snafu. Bread baskets and water glasses are promptly refilled by an efficient wait staff.

An evening at Al Forno is a special occasion and the prices reflect this. Appetizers average $15-20, pastas around $20, wood-grilled entrees between $25-32, and desserts (usually for 2) at $20. But for generous portions of the highest quality (a strong argument can be made that given such large quantities of food and the corresponding price points, Al Forno may be best enjoyed with large parties/ a la family style), exceptional service, and a charming, Old World atmosphere, it’s worth the splurge. Al Forno – Italian for ‘off the stove’ – stokes Paul’s Palate’s appetite. Put that on your foodie Hot Stove.

Olivadi: The Next Olive Garden?

2009-11-09T10:13:00.000-08:00

Let’s face facts: aside from Greek restaurant staple Byblos, Norwood Center has never been a must-drive dining destination that foodies have marked down on their calendars. Lo and behold, Olivadi Restaurant & Bar arrived just over a year ago riding the wave of Chef Daniele Baliani’s impressive culinary pedigree and the promise of delectable ‘modern classic’ Italian cuisine. Only a few months in, however, Baliani abruptly left, leading to General Manager Bruno Marini, formerly of the Federalist, to oversee the kitchen. With Baliani’s departure, would Olivadi’s cuisine be lost amidst the transition?

Sadly, yes. Whereas the wine selection (impressively stocked at 280) is extensive and moderately priced, and the cocktails are tasty enough (the Lime Rickey and Olivadi Punch, in particular), it’s the lack of flavors that make the restaurant’s fare seem well, just fair – sometimes bordering upon poor.

For starters, a complimentary basket of homemade bread and crostini with olive-colored, herb-flavored dipping sauce is satisfying enough. As are the fried calimari ($10), which are cooked in lemon-garlic aioli and served with arrabiata tomato dipping sauces. A dining companion remarks how perfectly cooked these crustaceans are prepared based on their rubbery-ness and lightness. I agree, though they lack any distinct flavor, sauces included (there’s no spiciness to the arrabiata). The spinach salad ($8) with sliced pears, candied pistachios, ricotta salad, crispy bacon, and champaigne vinaigrette sounds like a medley for the mouth (particularly given my affinity for all things bacon on greens). It’s decent enough, but for all of the wonderful ingredients, this medley doesn’t quite sing in flavor. And the cheese, in particular, a common theme throughout the course of the meal, is bland bordering on tart. There’s no balance to it. The seafood cioppino ($9/$18) is an improvement, a tuscan stew of mussels, shrimp, cod and onions in a spicy tomato broth. While the mussels and shrimp are instantly forgettable, the cod is perfectly cooked and the broth is delightful. Not so delightful is an oven roasted duck tart ($11), which sounds full of promise, but is surprisingly – wait for it – bland in texture and taste. The caramelized onions and goat cheese should elevate this unique dish but ultimately make it rather pedestrian. The carpaccio ($8) may be the worst dish on the menu. It is described as paper-thin beef tenderloin, and that description may be generous. Lumped together with baby arugula, the meat is barely recognizable and tasteless. We might as well have ordered another salad from the antipasti menu.

Entrees were equally disappointing. The stuffed pork chop Milanese ($21) came highly recommended by our server, and we were baffled as to why. The cut of meat, which came lightly fried, was slightly overcooked. The fontina cheese oozing from the sides would be a nice novelty had the cheese registered any distinct flavor. Nor could I find a trace of prosciutto that was supposed to be part of the dish. A truffled fondue sauce was overkill based on the amount of cheese within the cut of meat. Worst of all, a side of broccoli rabe was oversalted and had hints of fishiness to it, rendering it inedible. Mashed potatoes reaked of being pre-made and seemed a heavy compliment to such a dish. A dining companion of ours barely touched her Nonna’s roast chicken ($17), and it was easy to discern why: the bird was extremely overcooked and dry, which begs the question: how does a place carrying itself as a fine dining establishment destroy something so rudimentary to prepare? It would not have surprised us if our server had suddenly come out to apologize for a new chef manning the kitchen – that’s how mediocre the quality of the food was that evening.

Service is certainly hospitable enough. Our server was patient, cordial, and brutally honest in his opinions on what he believed worked and what didn’t on the menu. Unfortunately for him, there’s not much on the menu that did.

I’d heard second-hand reports that $3 million was invested to renovate Olivadi’s space. While the earthy tones, wooden floor, and dropped ceilings lend a hint of casual intimacy ambience-wise, there’s nothing remotely memorable about it (like the food itself). And by the looks of things on a Sunday evening, in which we were the lone table served, Olivadi may well face a steep climb if it is to celebrate its second anniversary next year. Mezza-mezza food may be acceptable for customers frequenting the Olive Garden, but for Olivadi, we expect much better.

Don’t Believe the Hype with CAV

2009-08-17T06:30:00.000-07:00

CAV (short for Coffee, Antiques, and Victuals – all of which the owner has traveled around the word to collect) seems like no other dining experience. Hidden away in a secluded part of downtown Providence, RI in a converted warehouse, the restaurant claims to serve up fusion cuisine as eclectic as its unique space. Over the years, CAV has been showered with rave reviews (i.e. Top 5 restaurant in Providence by the New York Times), but would Paul’s Palate agree with these assessments?

Certainly, CAV’s ambience merits recognition. Though situated in a remote (somewhat unsafe?) neighborhood of Providence that’s a bit challenging to find (CAV’s website has its own set of driving instructions, and instructs customers not to follow Google; there’s a free parking lot behind the restaurant, though, which is a plus), its funky interior is visually intoxicating. From the exposed pipes, brick walls, mirrored ceilings, white lights, to the crystal chandeliers (originally from the Four Seasons Hotel, the owner proudly boasts) and African artwork adorning the walls (carvings, wooden masks, drums, woven rugs, many of which are for sale to the public), it is as if customers were plopped into the movie Beetlejuice- an eye-dropping, dream-like setting, only paired with fine dining.

CAV’s food, however, sadly fails to deliver an equally satisfying sensory experience. For appetizers ($6.95 - $13.95), the calamari ($9.95), which were pan sautéed with fresh garlic, hot peppers, and fresh basil, were disappointingly bland. While the lobster bisque, infused with vanilla extract, packed plenty of flavor, it was served lukewarm and its consistency was not thick enough.

Entrees (pastas $15.95-$18.95, chef specialties $19.95-$28.95) fared somewhat better, though again, failed to deliver on a spectacular scale. Sesame Hijiki encrusted tuna, Sashimi quality, served rare with Wasabi aioli, Maki rolls, and pickled cucumber salad ($23.95) came highly recommended by our server, but I found that the tuna was neither as rare a cut as I had hoped, nor was there much bite to it (Wasabi – what Wasabi?). While my duck ($28.95) tasted delicious, the meat perfectly cooked and melding with creamy mashed sweet potatoes, the presentation was downright ghastly and frankly, disgraceful for a restaurant that prides itself in plating aesthetically pleasing dishes. It looked like the mush slopped onto the plate by the high school cafeteria lunch lady. My wife’s poulet aux Poires, however, a panseared chicken breast with pears poached in a red wine and ginger pear sauce ($21.95), was the rare dish where CAV seemed to find its groove both presentation and taste-wise: ultra-tender chicken with delightful accompaniments, particularly tasty sautéed Asian chive dumplings.

Where some of the food faltered, service was superlative. Our waiter was genial and prompt over the course of the evening, while the equally friendly owner periodically dropped in to greet and check in on our party.

CAV distinguishes itself with its unique interior and exceptional service. If only its cuisine were equally inspiring. On a scale from poor to outstanding, I would rate this establishment’s fare as merely good, but instantly forgettable. Unfortunately, that translates into CAV not living up to its own hype.

Tangierino Brings Tastes of Morocco to the Hub

2009-07-27T12:19:00.000-07:00

If you can’t find Charlestown all that easily, follow the freedom trail. Or, simply follow your nostrils, which will lead you to the tantalizing aromas emanating from well-regarded Moroccan chophouse Tangierino, which is located steps away from the historical (if not off-the-beaten) path on charming Main Street. This ten-year-old establishment was founded by executive chef/owner Samad Naamad, whose flair for creativity (he also poses as an interior designer and filmmaker) makes Tangierino an unforgettable, exotic dining experience.

Tangierino’s ambience is intoxicating, much like its food (more on that in a moment). The African mahogany bar is simple yet cozy and elegant. The main dining area is doubly impressive aesthetic-wise, swathed in dark hues and upon whose walls hang several mysterious paintings of a stranger’s veiled eyes. A more intimate, secluded seating arrangement includes several lowered tables replete with sofas, pillows, and curtains. Moroccan music plays over the speakers throughout the course of the evening, but the room’s spacing and acoustics make for easy, pleasant tableside conversation. A belly dancer sporadically pops by, embellishing the already exotic festivities. One minor flaw: the dimly lit setting may be a perhaps too dark, particularly for customers who want to fully observe and appreciate the meticulous presentations and plating of dishes (or for that matter, successfully order from the menu).

Namaad and chef de cuisine Abdul Laarag infuse the menu with both old and new world cuisine (the latter is simply old world with French/Asian touches). For appetizers (averaging $11-19), my partner and I sample one from each: a delectable Moroccan fisherman stew (old world selection - $14), abundant with shrimp, littlenecks, squid, and white fish. What makes the stew sing, however, is the zesty tomato-cilantro broth in which the seafood simmer, which includes marinated olives and harissa (a spicy North African hot red sauce made from chili powder and garlic). Perhaps even better? A new world selection of 4-layer tuna tartare, a bombardment of flavors that include moist, spicy tuna, guacaomole, scallions, cucumber and cilantro, accentuated by a unique, refreshing honey-mango sauce.

Entrees (ranging from $19-33) couldn’t possibly live up to the quality of the starters, but boy, do they ever. Our llamb dishes arrive, and my companion asks me to direct my nose just above her dish and inhale. I comply, and must attest that I cannot recall the last time a prepared meal so aroused these senses. The Moroccan spices not only enhance the flavors of these dishes, but make them sexy to eat (a Middle-Eastern aphrodisiac, if you will). My wife’s Couscous Royal (old world tagine - $28) consists of a perfectly tender braised lam shank, accompanied by 7-vegetable couscous (which includes sweet potatoes and chickpeas) and a spiced merguez (ground lamb in phyllo dough). My wife’s eye’s close in pleasure with each bite, and after a few of my own, I wholeheartedly concur. The Sultan’s Kadra (new world - $31), our server explains, is far and away the restaurant’s most popular entrée, and it’s easy to understand why. I certainly feel like a sultan when consuming a lip-smackingly good, generous 8 ounce cut of roast lamb sprinkled with Za’atar spice (which provides the lamb with a fascinating, perfume-like aftertaste) and rosemary reduction. A fresh fig and apricot sweetly compliment the lamb, but the star of this dish, and possibly the evening, is the stunningly good fried eggplant, served in the form of a giant tart stuffed with goat cheese, and topped with shitake mushrooms. Praise is often heaped upon dishes that do not merit it, but when a concoction as inventive and bold in flavor as this one arrives, you’re witnessing culinary magic.

Cocktails ($11-13) are a tad overpriced given their underwhelming flavors. The sparkling blue lemonade ($12), consisting of Cold River blueberry vodka, lemonade, muddled blueberries, lemon and soda) is not sweet enough and far too bitter – not enough berries to quench one’s thirst on a hot summer day. The Moroccan coffee ($12) promises to be a more authentic upgrade over the standard espresso martini, adding kahlua, cinnamon, and nutmeg into the equation. While traces of kahlua are noticeable, the other two ingredients are all but absent. You’ll have more luck with a wide array of wines which consist of over 200 bottles (averaging $9-13). A subtle Chilean pinot noir ($9) pairs magnificently with the lamb.

Desserts are decent enough, but lack the authenticity and creativity of our preceding courses. A flourless chocolate cake ($10) surrounded by whipped cream is gooey and tasty, but we’ve devoured better ones. Instead, head straight for the addictive Moroccan mint tea ($7), a steamy, sweet beverage that left us craving another pot.

Service was nothing less than exceptional. Our waiter was extremely competent, attentive, and knowledgeable of the menu, politely and patiently guiding us through his recommendations, all of which were spot-on. The meal was also well-paced. Case in point: several minutes after having our appetizers removed from our table, our server asked if we would like to have the kitchen proceed in terms of preparing our entrees. Now that is the leisurely approach that fine dining establishments everywhere need to adopt with its customers.

Tangierino treats its clientele like royalty with its eclectic fare and romantic atmosphere. And while the newly-expanded space include a multi-room lounge and cigar bar downstairs (Koullshi) that was a little bit club-ish and ill-fitted for the space for my taste, its kitchen puts out some of the city’s finest, and might I add grossly underappreciated cuisine: how did this place not find its way onto Boston Magazine’s Top 50 restaurants of 2009?). Prices are high, but not exorbitantly so when compared to the city’s other top eateries. After all, is it fair to place a price on an establishment that makes couples, if just for an evening, feel like kings and queens?

Walk, Don't Run, to Elephant Walk

2009-05-18T07:33:00.002-07:00

Given that Cambodian-French cuisine often proves to be challenging hunting down in the suburbs, Paul’s Palate donned his own safari hat and ventured into the jungles of Boston in search of a particular elephant – Elephant Walk, that is – to appease his dining desires. Much praise has been heaped upon the unique, sometimes adventurous ingredients and flavors emanating from this revered restaurant’s kitchens (additional locations in Cambridge and Waltham), so I decided to see if this Elephant was worth trumpeting about.

With its Boston location practically bordering upon Brookline (Beacon Street), Elephant Walk’s ambience is casually cool. Particularly noteworthy is its funky South Pacific-themed dining room, which includes several versions of elephants propped up against yellow walls. Be prepared, however: the open-aired room eliminates any possibility for an intimate meal. Also, what gives with the untidy bathrooms – located downstairs, no less - for such a moderately upscale restaurant?

Appetizers start our meal off on a positive note. Rouleaux – Cambodian spring rolls – are moist and flavorful. These are not your average spring rolls – nothing on the menu is traditional, for that matter – and are stuffed with a combination of ground pork, crushed peanut, bean thread, carrot and onion. Sweet tuk trey dipping sauce is merely a bonus, since the spring rolls are stand-alone scrumptious. Even better: the Nataing - ground porked simmered in coconut milk with sliced garlic, crushed peanut, and chili pods – which is served alongside crispy jasmine rice to be dipped into the concoction. What might sound a bit unconventional is pure culinary bliss. It’s the Cambodian equivalent of chili and nachos, only infinitely better.

Second courses are a mixed bag. Salade de Bleu au Poire William - tossed greens with Gorgonzola cheese, toasted walnut, balsamic vinaigrette, pan-roasted pear, and Poire William coulis – sounds like a delicious meshing of flavors, but sadly falls flat. There’s surprisingly little of the pear (which is delicious), and the vinaigrette – a sweet and sour glaze which should pull together all of the ingredients – is bland. Faring much better is the avocado soup – deliberately served cold – that is the perfect light and refreshing solution for a hot summer day. Add in succulent mushrooms along with citrus-lemon juice and cilantro for some bite, and there you have your Cambodian version of gazpacho.

Entrees, in one word, soar. Khar Saiko Kroeung – braised short ribs – is a spectacular success. What’s more rare to find in this area – an elephant or meaty, perfectly cooked, tender short ribs? Sometimes, I think it’s the latter, but Elephant Walk’s version is stellar, served alongside Shanghai noodles sauteed with baby bok choy, bean sprouts and scallion, a perfect compliment to suck up the juices flowing from the meat. Curry de Crevettes is not your mother’s traditional Thai curry, which is sometimes bland and heavy. This dish, served with jumbo shrimp, asparagus, baby bok choy (can one ever have enough of this wonderful Chinese cabbage?), eggplant, snow peas, and yellow squash, is spiced up with red pepper and a wonderfully light red curry sauce. While I detect a slight hint of fishiness to the curry (though not off-putting in the least), my companion finds this concoction to be her favorite one from our evening’s selections. Given the large portion sizes that preceded dinner, the two of us decide to pass on dessert.

Service is capable enough, though far from perfect. Although our waitress is genial enough, she’s a bit too prompt with our meals. The three courses seem to immediately follow one another, leaving little time to digest and appreciate what we have just eaten (we were seated for an hour).

Pass on the cocktails, which sound appealing but are rather blasé by this imbiber’s standards. A green tea mojito is refreshing enough and packed with mint, but its taste is not all that distinct from your average mojito filled with rum. A ginger-lemon martini is loaded with an exorbitant amount of ginger and not enough lemon. It’s far too bitter and lacks tartness. While we’re at it, pass on the bread as well, which is nearly stale and virtually inedible. Thankfully, the remainder our meals wash out this bad taste from our mouths.

Value cannot be beaten at this establishment. Prix-fixe menus range from $29.95 for three courses, and $33.95 for four. If you’re seeking out additional dinner options, starters average around $7-8, entrees at $16-18, and desserts at $8. Vegan and gluten-free menus are also available, a nice gesture from the owners not lost on this reviewer. Valet parking is $7, though there is a bevy of meter parking available alongside Beacon Street.

Would Paul’s Palate book a return trip to Elephant Walk? Surely, especially with his wallet not all that much lighter from when he entered the restaurant (and in this economy, that is most certainly a good thing). Would Elephant Walk be the first place worth visiting on his safari itinerary? Let’s just say I’d like to travel to other dining destinations beforehand.

Hungry Mother Needs A Scolding

2009-03-02T07:05:00.001-08:00

Please allow me to be the first and perhaps last food critic to express my disappointment in Hungry Mother. Sure, it’s had an inordinate amount of hype and positive press behind it since its opening last year in Cambridge, MA. But Chef/Owner Barry Maiden’s French-Southern comfort cuisine – a rarity in the city to be sure – left me perplexed about what the hubbub has been all about.

Maiden – a Virginia native who previously spent his days as Chef de Cuisine under Michael Leviton at West Newton’s much revered Lumiere – clearly cooks with passion for all things Southern, as evidenced by adventurous dishes such as boiled peanuts, fried green tomatoes, and shrimp with grits. This is true comfort grub consumed by those South of the Mason Dixon line. Even house mixed drinks, which are listed numerically, contain a hint of the deep South. Take, for instance, the no. 2, mixed with maker’s mark, sorghum syrup, luxardo amaretto, and boiled peanut for good measure. Southern comfort, indeed. Even water glasses resemble Southern-style jars.

Where there’s promise, however, there’s much letdown. While the aforementioned no.2 was unique in taste, it lacked the distinct peanuty aftertaste I expected. My drinking companion’s no. 47 (laird’s applejack, aperol, buffalo trace bourbon) was much too heavy on the bourbon and practically undrinkable. First courses also proved to be a mixed bag. Fried green tomatoes - while accompanied by a zesty remouloude sauce and a perfectly cooked, delicious, meaty piece of bacon – contained too much batter and too little tomato (which wasn’t ripe enough for my taste). Warm beef toungue canapé with gruyere and Dijon was overcooked and quite bland. A tasting tray containing artisinal cheese, fois gras, and candied prunes, was shockingly small in both size and taste. The lone appetizer that had me wanting more: a Southern staple of shrimp and grits, which contained Maine shrimp (though on the small side), salty tasso ham, New Orleans barbeque, and delectable cornbread croutons. One of my companions remarked during the meal that Hungry Mother was a tad heavy-handed on its inclusion of salt (for instance, the collards). While I agreed with him to some extent, I expressed that extra salt is customary in many Southern dishes.

Main courses were equally mixed. I found the special of bourbon braised pork slightly overcooked and lacking in bourbon flavor. Though one of my eating companions believed that the cornmeal catfish lacked freshness, I did not detect this and found my dish to be rather good. While the fish could certainly have been meatier, its crunchy cornmeal exterior was just right texture-wise, while its accompanying sides of hoppin’ john, andouille sausage, and chow chow meshed well together. Giannone farm roasted chicken was also satisfactory, served alongside brussel sprouts and organic carrots, while drizzled with a savory red-eye gravy jus. Surprisingly, I found Maiden’s French-influenced dish – pillowy-soft French style gnocchi with tender foraged mushrooms, kale, butternut squash broth and sage – to be the most successful entrée on the menu.

Desserts were solid, but not spectacular. Old fashioned coconut cake with cream cheese frosting and toasted coconut, while thankfully not too sweet, was not as moist as I had hoped. While my eating companion claimed that its crust was not thick enough for his taste and found its nutty crunchy texture slightly off-putting, I was a huge fan of the peanut pie, particularly the way the bite of the cooked-in bourbon was perfectly counterbalanced by the creaminess of the sorghum ice cream.

While Hungry Mother’s ambience is certainly inviting and homey, its interior proves that even Southern hospitality has its flaws. On the first floor is a tight waiting area, while behind it lies a handful of tables and a small bar. The entryway should be re-named ‘draft central’ for those tables that experience repeated wind gusts from the doorway opening and closing. The main dining area on the second floor is quaint enough, though seating is a tad cramped and acoustics are poor, as we virtually resorted to shouting throughout the evening. Worst of all, while coats are taken by the maitre’d upon arrival, they are stored right in front of the sole bathrooms in the establishment, sometimes creating long lines in the dining area and making it difficult to discern who is leaving the restaurant and who is going (to the bathroom, that is). On a more positive note decorum-wise, Southern jars are memorably converted into funky lighting fixtures (most notably, a number of these are strikingly displayed over the bar to great effect). The white walls and dark wood floors are simple and perfect for the casual family-style vibe for which Hungry Mother aims.

Our server was attentive, amiable, and knowledgeable of the menu. Like any Southern meal, ours was served at a pleasant, leisurely pace.

Value-wise, most of Hungry Mother’s appetizers come out under $10 and entrees average around $20. While some may believe these prices to be a bargain compared to other high-end city restaurants, I was not so enthusiastic given the relatively small portions.

Location-wise, Hungry Mother sits across from the Kendall Square Cinema on the corner of Medeiros Ave, which can make for a nice dinner/movie night out (especially since the restaurant offers discounted movie passes which they will pick up for customers). There is no valet parking, so customers are on their own in that regard.

Did Hungry Mother leave me hungry for seconds? Sure. Maiden’s menu is just eclectic and diverse enough for me to return for seconds. Did his fare leave me feeling as if I had just dined at the seventh-highest rated restaurant in all of Massachusetts (according to Boston Magazine’s recently published list of the Top 50 Restaurants in 2009)? I’ll try to be as Southern gentlemanly as possibly when I say unfortunately, no.

Sorellina Brings Luxurious New York City Ambience to Boston

2009-02-16T06:54:00.000-08:00

Boston’s Copley Square has been long known for its extravagant high-end stores, so why not add another lavish hotspot to its ensemble? Sorellina, the ‘kid sister’ restaurant of revered Chef/Owner Ken Mammano, is part of the culinary quintet of restaurants known as the Columbus Restaurant Group (CRG also consists of flagship Mistral, L’Andana, Teatro, and Mooo…) Sorellina, located on One Huntington Avenue, is now almost two years young, and although its opulence may not be as chic as it was since its opening given the present economic downturn, it remains one of Boston’s finest dining destinations given its sophisticated contemporary Italian-Mediterranean cuisine and unparalleled ambience.

Immediately upon entering Sorelllina, one gets the feeling of being transported into the most chic of New York City eateries. The enormous space holds 126 seats in the main dining room, and another 20 at the stylish white bar/lounge. One’s eyes are immediately drawn to Sorellina’s ultra-modern décor, punctuated by a riveting back wall mural that held my attention all evening. Black and white columns are sleekly displayed throughout, as are floor-to-ceiling windows, suspended glass lanterns, and illuminated back walls in which Sorellina’s extensive number of wines may be viewed. Now this would be a place where I would expect to see celebrities dine. As scantily-clad hostesses walked across the dining room, I wasn’t quite sure if they were checking upon table availability or merely serving as attractive eye candy for male customers. After all, this is the place to be seen.

For starters, my companion and I shared a half-portion of the Maccheroncelli, consisting of two American Kobe Beef meatballs, accompanied by a creamy Barolo reduction sauce and flecks of parmigiano. The meatballs’ texture was smooth as silk, and the meat was extremely rich and satisfying. One minor complaint was that the meatballs were accompanied by a disproportionately small amount of three buttery, homemade pasta tubes. Also, the parmigiano was an unnecessary ingredient given the richness of the meatballs. And while I’ve never claimed to be a huge fan of French fries, Sorellina’s creative take on them made me reconsider my opinion of them. Its version of truffled fries consisted of thin, buttery crisp slices, and my companion and I believed these to be the best we’ve ever devoured.

Sorellina’s entrees soared in terms of taste, ingredients, and presentation. My companion’s Long Island Pekin breast of duck served ‘Saltimbocca’ style with prosciutto, sage, parsnips, and Ambra Marsala, was perhaps the moistest version I’ve sampled in some time. My pan-roasted venison, served alongside vanilla scented chestnut spuma and a sweet huckleberry gastrico, was delightfully good. Venison is a meat that can be easily overcooked and overprepared, and requires a touch of restraint and simplicity from anyone cooking it. Sorellina’s chef cooked this Red Stag medium rare, as it should be, and the meat was perfectly charred on the outside. It’s a jewel of a dish, and rates as equally good as La Cachette’s renowned version (Los Angeles’s acclaimed French restaurant).

Desserts are nothing short of compelling. My companion’s sorbetto is, for the most part, refreshing and delicious, particularly the coconut flavor (the pomegranate less so, and the lemon, not so much). My warm chocolate budino with vanilla gelato, playfully served in a cast iron pot, might be the best chocolate concoction I’ve ever tasted. Its sweet scent can be instantly traced once the dish is presented upon the table. Its exterior sensitively sways back and forth at the touch of a spoon, revealing a hot, gooey, decadent bittersweet chocolate interior.

Service was impeccable and efficient. Our genial server was prompt and knowledgeable of the menu, providing her honest opinion on dishes she preferred over others (although an uber-happy server beside her suspiciously raved that all of the cuisine was sensational). Water glasses were constantly filled and the meal was well paced, especially given the large portion sizes. There was nary a crumb to be found in this establishment, and even the over-sized bathrooms (with sitting chairs included) were spotless.

Value is in the eyes of the beholder. Appetizers average out at $16, pasta at $27 (half portions also available), entrees at $35-40, and desserts at $10. Tack on a $15 fee for valet parking, and the check comes out to roughly $200 for two. For some of the finest cuisine in the city, it’s certainly worth splurging on a special occasion. Given today’s economic climate, it’s no secret that luxury dining destinations are struggling to stay in business. Let’s just hope that Sorellina is still around the next time I want to go out for that special occasion.

Pigalle is Worth Squealing About

2008-12-24T18:02:00.000-08:00

Paul’s Palate has always enjoyed taking in a show at Boston’s Theatre District. Even more so when it is of the culinary variety. Pigalle, with its chef/co-owner Marc Orfaly and his creative French fusion fare, have long been showered with adulation from foodies and food critics alike. Would this premiere dining destination, named after Paris’s Red Light District, earn this critic’s standing applause or merely a faint handclap?

After sitting for two hours in what seemed like endless traffic the night before Christmas Eve, Pigalle’s alluring ambience was the perfect remedy to his Holiday blues. Though its brick house exterior is rather mundane looking, it’s Pigalle’s quaint Parisian-like interior that makes patrons feel at ease. While some might find the cozy space small and slightly cramped, I found this setting – which included candlelit lighting and walls of chocolate and cream-colored hues – romantically intimate, particularly with festive Holiday music played aloud. With the exception of a disturbingly unkempt and chilly restroom and lack of a bar area (which seated no more than a few customers), Pigalle’s interior exudes charm sans the stuffiness that often accompanies similar establishments.

On such a brisk winter evening, Paul’s Palate was instantly warmed up by the prospect of sipping on a superlative cocktail filled with whiskey, hot apple cider, and cinnamon.

Appetizers were enjoyable, if not slightly flawed. My companion’s arugula salad was filled with crispy pieces of bacon and even tastier fingerling potato chips, an innovative take had not the greens benefitted from a more potent vinaigrette dressing. My pate de porc was perfectly creamy in texture, accompanied by crispy cornichons. The dish was playfully presented in a triangular shape as if it were a painter’s canvas: the pate in the center, the cornichons to one side, while two others included melt-in-your mouth-good Armagnac soaked prunes and a slightly off-putting, superfluous mustard aioli.

Entrees are where Chef Orfaly flexes his culinary muscle. His cooking style is widely admired, but rarely reciprocated. His secret: uniquely cooking meats in their own fat, which greatly enhances the flavors of his dishes. And there are lots of flavors hitting the palate here. Take, for instance, Pigalle’s coq au vin, a bacon wrapped chicken breast with sautéed greens and bacon. Not only is this some of the most tender chicken this reviewer has ever devoured (and that’s no small feat), but it is also accompanied by a succulent side of pearl onions and mushrooms en croute (a flaky vegetable pop tart, if you will). My sweet potato tortelloni is unlike any pasta I’ve sampled in recent memory, its insides only subtly sweet, while layered with brown butter, sage, and tender confit duck (its fat congeals nicely to the top of the dish). If there is one downside to Orfaly’s fireworks of flavor, his dishes may prove to be too rich (i.e. heavy/dense) for those who are unaccustomed to consuming food prepared in this technique.

Desserts bring the meal to a satisfying conclusion. The apple strudel sounds promising, with its golden raisins, candied walnuts, and cinnamon ice cream. It is only mildly enjoyable, however, resembling nothing more than a petite apple croissant. The pastry possessed little fruit flavor and excess flakiness, not only making it somewhat difficult to eat, but also making it difficult to distinguish some of the other key ingredients. The accompanying cinnamon ice cream was nothing more than s tiny dollop of vanilla atop cinnamon crumble, a fanciful idea that doesn’t quite hit its mark. On the other hand, my companion’s rhubarb crisp, is heavenly comfort food for the soul, perfectly tart, warmed, and topped with a sensationally potent compliment of tropical fruit sorbet.
Bottom line is this: Pigalle is a place where Paul’s Palate isn’t afraid to pig out. Given Chef Orfaly’s inspiring, innovative menu, satisfactory service (a knowledgeable, nice-enough server with impeccable menu recommendations) and a reasonable pricetag ($40 for a 3-course stimulus menu) during these touch economic times, this Theatre District gem deserves an encore.

Mount Blue Fails to Reach Culinary Heights

2008-12-18T10:04:00.000-08:00

Mount Blue, a 12-year-old restaurant situated in the quaint, affluent community of Norwell, MA, once brought out Paul’s Palate inner rock star. It’s no wonder why: local rock legend Steven Tyler of Aerosmith was once its part-owner, and the high level of craziness and excitement that accompanied both his music and personal life was successfully channeled into his establishment’s eclectic décor and menu selection. Would current owner Jayne Bowe’s cuisine persuade Paul’s Palate to scale any mountain or would it demonstrate that Mount Blue’s culinary reputation has already ‘peaked?’

Given his most recent visit to Mount Blue, it was immediately evident that Paul’s Palate needed to be rescued immediately from its avalanche of mediocrity. While cocktails were adequate - particularly the hearty espresso martini - a $10-12 pricetag per beverage was exorbitantly high given the casual, suburban setting. Moreover, the embarrassed bartender conceded that several ingredients in some of the other cocktails we preferred were out of stock.

Appetizers fared the strongest over the course of the evening. Meaty buffalo chicken wings possessed a nice amount of heat, while calamari were accompanied by a subtly sweet soy dipping sauce. The grilled flatbread pizza was the standout amongst these dishes, with just the right amount of crisp and sprinkled with basil. The lone disappointment was the mini shrimp quesadillas, which were extremely doughy and whose shrimp must have been so miniscule that Paul’s Palate barely tasted them.

Entrees verged on disastrous. Whereas the spicy! Mount blue pad thai succeeded meshing together sweet and sour ingredients with a kick (including peanuts, cilantro, and mint), the 12 ounce cut of Angus steak was fatty and not prepared to order (more medium well than medium rare). In addition, its accompanying béarnaise sauce was surprisingly bland. An excessive amount of salt, particularly evident on the side order of asparagus, made much of the dish inedible (an eating companion tried an asparagus tip, only to immediately spit it out). An acclaimed chef such as Melinda Lynch (previously of Tosca and Rustic Kitchen) should know that less is more. A seemingly unique menu item, the haddock saltimbocca, is also devoid of any distinct taste, in light of its promising prosciutto and sage exterior.

Although desserts are typically Paul’s Palate’s favorite course of the meal and often are impervious to his harsh criticism, Mount Blue’s version manages just that. A Black Forest cake is bafflingly the sole offering that evening, and it is nothing more than a fancy name for a warmed-up, slightly raw (sugar gristles in Paul’s Palate’s teeth) brownie douzed with chocolate syrup. In fact, My question to Chef Lynch is this: how does one make a chocolate concoction so unappealing?

Paul’s Palate’s recommendation: the owners of Mount Blue should immediately consult with Steven Tyler in order to regain its swagger. During this most recent excursion, our party was the only one seated all evening. This might be the sign of a struggling economy, a restaurant still struggling to find its own identity, or perhaps both. One thing is for certain: in the words of our beloved frontman, Mr. Tyler, Mount Blue is perilously ‘living on the edge.’ Like Aerosmith in the 1980’s, Paul’s Palate hopes there is a comeback left in what he once considered one of the South Shore’s most exciting dining destinations.

This Maxwell is 'Smart'

2008-11-17T05:12:00.000-08:00

I’ve always been an avid fan of the old TV show-turned-hit-movie Get Smart, particularly of its protagonist, agent Maxwell Smart. And while he may not always get the girl or foil a world takeover plot like Smart, Paul’s Palate finds no mission impossible when it comes to seeking out fantastic fare. This starving spy went undercover to sample the oft-praised gourmet cuisine at Maxwell’s 148 in Natick. Would this prove to be a ‘smart’ decision?

With its cream and bronze tiles, crystals chandeliers, velvet curtains, and hydro rock gardens, Maxwell’s upscale, yet inviting ambience is luxuriously feng shui. It’s a surprisingly successful blend between the opulence of the Oak Room and the relaxation one finds in a day spa. For spies like us, this atmosphere could sabotage our entire mission. After all, there is literally no dirt to be dug up here (from the tiles to the tables, Maxwell’s interior is utterly pristine). Nor does there exist the opportunity to conduct our covert operation here: the wonderfully affable, super-attentive wait staff left neither a napkin unfolded nor water glass unfilled. The copper plated menus were also a lavish touch that did not go unnoticed during this spy’s supper surveillance. How could I possibly maintain my cover when I was instantly made to feel so special?

While Agent 007 may prefer his martini prepared in a universally known manner, this agent prefers Maxwell’s Fig 148, a unique cocktail consisting of house infused vodka, Kahlua, Cointreau, and topped with a subtle layer of cream. It’s a moderately sweet, light cocktail whose daring combination of licquers left Paul’s Palate shaken, but not stirred.

Appetizers provided a nice start to the evening. The heavily hyped Pho Max soup achieved maximum points for taste: the lobster broth subtly brought out the crustacean’s flavor, while succulent shrimp and crab dumplings were nice creative garnishes. Clams in spicy tomato sauce, although prepared on the milder side, were also appealing.

The Italian, Asian, and French-inspired entrees soared. Gnocchi al tartufo was a marvel of a dish, and worth every penny of its considerable cost ($45). While this house-made pasta was filled with creamy ricotta cheese, it was thankfully not nearly as heavy on the stomach as one would have anticipated. The gnocchi was well complimented by an abundance of beautifully cooked, succulent chunks of Maine lobster, whose sweetness was balanced by the tartness of ethereal shaved summer truffles. My wife’s grilled Portobello mushrooms were perfectly prepared in a sweet ginger-soy sauce and accompanied by crispy Indonesian noodles, whose crunchy texture provided a nice contrast to the mushroom’s silkiness. Another dining companion lauded the Catch in a Bag, which consisted of a flaky, buttery cod with shrimp stuffing, Asian vegetables, and hoison glaze. What was the secret to transforming a rather ordinary tasting fish into something extraordinary? Maxwell’s kitchen staff takes the innovative approach of cooking and presenting the fish in rice paper. Ancient Chinese secret, indeed.

Dessert served as an exciting finale to our appetizing adventure. Our knowledgeable, patient server strongly encouraged me to order the banana caramel cake. This concoction resembled a superior version of sponge cake, which was spiked with licquer, stuffed with gooey, baked-in bananas, and doused with rich caramel sauce. It was light, decadent, and for this spy, worth dying for.

Following his perilous mission, Paul’s Palate believes the ‘smart’ money would be on dining at Maxwell’s 148. Sure, price-wise, it’s bit of a splurge (cocktails average $12, appetizers $12-14, most entrees from $25-30, and steaks at $45). For eclectic, sophisticated cuisine and top-of-the-line service bordering on pampering, however, this is money well spent (3-course $29.99 prixe fixe meals during the week are also worth checking out). Free parking in the rear of the building certainly helps matters. To quote an old James Bond film title, one should Never Say Never Again to Maxwell 148 when seeking that special occasion dining destination. It’s no secret that this restaurant has accomplished its culinary mission.

This Vintage Leaves Sour Taste

2008-11-10T16:58:00.000-08:00

When West Roxbury’s Vintage opened its doors a couple of years ago, its arrival had South Shore diners abuzz. After all, an upscale, yet affordable steakhouse was a rare find (no pun intended). Vintage also lived up to its very definition: its ambience and fare were characterized by excellence, maturity and enduring appeal. Well, save for the last part: co-owner Jeffrey Fournier, who heads the highly esteemed 51 Lincoln in Newtonville, abruptly parted ways with the restaurant’s founding owners, leaving Vintage with a bit of an identity crisis and ultimately forcing its short-term closure. It now boasts a new ownership team, a revitalized menu, and even cheaper prices. Would Paul’s Palate find that this particular Vintage has aged well over time or would this establishment leave a sour taste in his mouth?

One thing is blatantly obvious: Vintage’s menu selection has undergone a drastic makeover. In lieu of quality cuts of steak tailored for the more carnivorous crowd, Executive Chef Brian Roskow and Sous Chef Claudinei Desouza have opted for a more eclectic selection of culinary offerings that include a variety of pastas, pizzas, meats, and seafood. These meals are presented as ‘family style dining,’ and the menu has more of an American Italian feel to it than its predecessor’s New American theme.

Vintage should be commended for its attempt to serve Halloween-inspired cocktails. Those that we sampled, however, were downright ghastly, as both concoctions possessed exorbitant amounts of straight alcohol while lacking any distinct, sweet flavor.

Appetizers were only a slight improvement. Calamari fritte were thankfully not overly fried and doughy, and yet were disappointingly bland and forgettable. Sam Adams-steamed mussels fared much better and the ale-flavored broth made for a wonderfully succulent, soppy dipping sauce for accompanying pieces of buttery garlic bread. My lone complaint of this dish was that it lacked muscles – ahem, mussels, since three shells were mysteriously devoid of the tasty mollusks.

Entrees were equally hit-or-miss. My wife’s veal parmigiana (sans cheese given my wife’s dairy allergy) was lightly breaded, lean, and perfectly cooked, not to mention the zesty red sauce in which it was slathered. A companion and I, however, order woefully overcooked seared rare ahi tuna (our deeply apologetic server informs us that the kitchen has had continuous problems that evening preparing this dish). In addition, a heaping side of ratatouille, while tasty, was an awkward, heavy pairing that simply overwhelmed the tuna’s light consistency.

Desserts, however, almost made this reviewer forget the evening’s prior culinary miscues. A flourless molten chocolate cake erupted with piping hot chocolate, and was one of the finest I’ve consumed in recent memory. For the more health conscious, a champagne-soaked pear doused with caramel and whipped cream was a light, yet comforting consolation prize.

Although its prices are better than ever (appetizers from $8-12, most pastas and meats ranging between $15-25), Vintage’s overall value appears to have depreciated over time given the substandard quality of its food. Clearly, its fare lacks the confidence and experimental touch of Fournier, its former proprietor. If tradition is what the new owners are staking their claim upon, their dishes must shine. Unfortunately, Paul’s Palate has found that Vintage’s initial, promising luster has worn off.

Is this 'Fireplace' Blowing Smoke?

2008-09-02T08:04:00.000-07:00

The Fireplace, located in the heart of Washington Square (Beacon St) in Brookline, has been a popular dining destination to which many locals have flocked since its inception in 2001. Owner/chef Jim Solomon’s restaurant has received numerous accolades for his New American menu whose emphasis is placed upon wood-smoked and rotisserie-style comfort food. But did you know that the Fireplace offers up a much-revered brunch menu? Neither did Paul’s Palate. He therefore decided to conduct a surprise emergency inspection to more accurately gauge whether this Fireplace’s brunch runs hot or cold.

The eatery’s ambience is a tad perplexing. Its copper and wrought iron space, which is accentuated by a large fireplace, certainly feels homey enough. The restaurant resides, however, on two levels, and seating on the first floor is tight. Also, the cathedral-like ceilings and accompanying acoustics appear to contradict Solomon’s intention of creating a more intimate atmosphere.

Minor architectural gaffes aside, the food is what my inspection truly revolves around, and overall, I am pleased to report in my findings that the Fireplace receives a passing grade. For starters, a cup of scallop and clam chowder is a real-crowd pleaser given its creamy consistency and heaping portions of scallops and bacon. The only shortcoming I could find is that I should have ordered an entire bowl. A sampling of the chilled summer gazpacho also passes my taste bud test with flying colors, as it is refreshingly light but packs just enough zip.

Entrees are equally good, and demonstrate how Solomon is able to elevate basic comfort food by infusing them with a burst of unique, mouth-watering ingredients. Checking your calories? Have a fig, peach and apple salad with frisee, arugula, candied almonds laced with strawberry vinaigrette. If cholesterol is not an issue, how about challah French toast with apricot almond cheese? Want to stick with the bread family? The show-stopper of the meal is a portion of crispy corn waffles soaked with rum, bananas, brown sugar, and apple cider syrup. This is one of those signature dishes where one’s eyes close in total bliss.

This inspector, however, found a couple of items not to his liking, and had it not been for the overall quality of the final product, he may well have shut this operation down. For one, our empty water glasses and coffee cups were too often neglected by our server. Second, the kitchen itself might benefit from a real health inspector, as evidenced by an initial serving of waffles that came out inedibly cold, while a small pitcher of cream was slightly curdled. These errors were swiftly rectified, apologies were immediately and sincerely issued by the manager, and order was restored in brunch universe.

Value-wise, the Fireplace gives me a warm, toasty feeling. Appetizers range from $6-$9, while entrees average between $10-$12. As long as Paul’s Palate isn’t burning through his wallet for an above-average breakfast, this is a cozy ‘Fireplace’ he finds much to his liking.

Hip to Be 'Square'

2008-09-02T06:22:00.000-07:00

Nowadays, Paul’s Palate’s memory seems to fade in and out like the waves of the ocean sea. How convenient, then, that I am miraculously able to recall my dining experience several years ago at an eatery that lies but a stone’s throw away from this body of water? Square Café, located directly in the heart of Hingham Center, is the brainchild of Patty Libby, former partner/owner of nearby culinary competitor and equally esteemed Tosca. If memory serves me correctly, Libby’s New American menu at that time focused on traditional dishes accompanied by hints of modern panache and a wealth of fresh flavors. This time out, would Paul’s Palate find himself singing Huey Lewis’s eighties anthem ‘Hip to Be Square’ or find himself merely running in circles?

Immediately upon arrival, our dinner party is warmly greeted with open arms, and made to feel like part of Square Café’s extended, if not somewhat likeably dysfunctional family. In fact, the host shouts aloud his attraction to my two-toned loafers, and humorously implies that he cannot seat us until I divulge where I’ve purchased them. Once this matter is settled, we are promptly seated at our table. The café’s interior has the soothing effect of an upscale health spa given its cherry floors, custom furniture, vintage botanicals and warm pastel green walls and seats. On Square Café’s website, its cuisine is even described as ‘food to nourish the soul.’ It’s as if Deepak Chopra and Dionne Warwick decided to open up this semi-spiritual, new-age establishment.

Like the café’s ambience, cocktails are equally quirky and appealing. Forget that boring dirty martini. How about sampling a fun, fruity trio of guava-mango, blood orange, and cantaloupe martinis? Similar to Square Café’s ambience, these drink’s flavors are sweet, but not offensively so.

Appetizers entice us further. Appearances can certainly be deceiving upon initial glance. For instance, offerings that include pork and vegetable spring rolls, shrimp and vegetable tempura, calamari, and shrimp and crab cakes sound as they originate from more commonplace (though respectable) food chains such as Chinatown or Legal Sea Food. Blink, however, and you may miss some of the most unique combinations of ingredients which make these dishes come alive: a light, zesty chili lemongrass sauce (for the spring roll); a smorgasbord of lightly-breaded sweet potatoes, green beans, peppers, zucchini, and onions and a sweet soy dipping sauce (tempura); grapefruit, papaya, and roasted cashews (calamari). Executive Chef Andrea Schnell’s exceptional culinary skills are on full display given her willingness to experiment with such bold, fresh combinations.

Schnell’s creativity sneaks into her entrees as well, which are split into small and large plates. Shrimp on its own would be so laissez-faire. Square Café prepares it hot and sweet, accompanied by simply divine mango fried rice, which could be served as a main course in itself. I’m the lone diner at my table brave enough to consume raw fish, and order the yellowfin tuna. The fish is perfectly seared, its center bright pink, and its texture tender and buttery. What makes this fish dish truly swim is its distinctive accoutrements: yuzu vinaigrette, pomegranate drizzle, seared bok choy, and jasmine rice.

Desserts are sinfully delectable, and our amazement over the quality of the food continues. What could possibly delineate this restaurant’s warm chocolate cake from countless others I’ve consumed over the years? That’s easy: serve with scrumptious, gooey, warmed heapings of English toffee, chocolate and caramel sauces, and a light, gelato-like vanilla ice cream. It also helps matters that the cake itself is as moist and rich as any other version I’ve tasted in years. I yawn at the thought of bread pudding, which can often be bland and dry/over-cooked. Schnell’s ethereal version consists of lumps of bananas and pineapples that awaken one’s taste buds.

Service is nothing short of sensational. Our genial waiter possesses the perfect blend of patience, humor, promptness, and menu knowledge, and his presence played a major role over the course of the evening. He is as polished as any waiter you’ll see in town.

For my money’s worth, Square Café is a hole in one. Sure, the meals may not come cheaply (appetizers $10-$15, small and large plates ranging from $19-$32, desserts $6-$8), but the portions are generous and its innovative cuisine rivals anything that the best and certainly more expensive eateries in Boston (Mistral, L’Espalier, Sorrelina) have to offer. Paul’s Palate’s verdict is in, and I’m saying it loud and proud: it is most certainly hip to be 'Square.'

What's the 411 on Tremont 647?

2008-08-18T05:49:00.000-07:00

Tremont 647’s location may not come as a surprise to many Bostonians (that’s 647 Tremont Street in Boston’s hip, vibrant South End neighborhood, for those of you slow on the uptake), but its inventive, playful global cuisine, in which Asian, Latin, and Southern flavors collide, surely does not. Executive Chef/Owner Andy Husband’s eclectic establishment has been churning out tantalizing dishes for twelve years running, which means he must be doing something right. Local foodies have obviously wedded themselves to Husband’s cuisine. Would Paul’s Palate say ‘I do’ to his heralded menu or ask for an annulment?

Like most married couples, there are bound to be a couple of minor quibbles. Take, for instance, Tremont’s interior space, which allegedly, according to the restaurant’s website, comfortably seats 70. My wife and I meander past the bar, through a narrow entryway, and into a quaint, if not slightly claustrophobic main dining area which virtually sits atop the open kitchen. Given this seating arrangement, one can behold Chef Husbands’s dexterity as he provides direction and oversight to his culinary team. For sheer entertainment value, it’s great fun. If you’re seeking a private, intimate conversation with your loved one, however, I’d look elsewhere. The half dozen tables in this dining area also sit atop one another, congregating diners so closely together that I could almost reach across and share dinner with my neighbors. Ah, communal dining at its finest.

The unique selection of cocktails, however, offers a promising glimpse of what’s to come. My wife orders a refreshingly smooth Joy’s Pineapple Martini, in which house-infused pineapple vodka, Stoli Vanil, and pineapple juice are blended together. She’s relieved that her drink does not possess the typically syrupy texture that usually accompanies such a beverage. I’m feeling emboldened and try the Tremont Tang, which consists of house infused papaya vodka, fruit juices, and bubbles. While my wife’s face contorts upon tasting the orange-sugar coated rim (much too sweet, she murmurs), I find that the rim’s sweetness is beautifully balanced by the drink’s other ingredients. Sweet, for sure, but not overly so. The bubbles are also a nice, creative touch, lending consistency and lightness to what could have been a heavy drink.

For starters, we sample the Rare Tuna Nicoise 647, which is a fancy term for an impressively fancy dish. Take two pieces of thinly sliced, perfectly pinkish-colored tuna, encrusted with pastrami spices, and served alongside olive tapenade and egg salad. This trio of ingredients may sound slightly off-putting, but it somehow works. The olive tapenade atop the tuna makes for a potent taste of picante, whose heat is balanced out by the coolness of the egg salad. From there, we proceed with one of Chef Husband’s signature dishes – his Tibetan dumpling momos. What’s a momo, you ask? It’s a fried dumpling that sits atop a wonderfully spicy red sauce called sriracha, and which can subsequently be dipped in a cool soy-sake sauce.

Entrees are equally lip-smackingly good. My wife’s 647 Surf ’n Turf (OK, we get it, we’re eating at Tremont 647 – enough with the naming conventions!) consists of a perfectly cooked braised flank steak with moist lobster tails and shrimp. While the meat and seafood are the headliners of this dish, let’s not omit its amazing supporting cast of ingredients: the salsa roja adds much-needed bite to the dish (it remins me of a fine mojo sauce), while the silky, sweet glazed banana could have been served as a dessert all by itself. My Lobster Mac ’n Cheese is delightfully good, exponentially better than what mom used to make (sorry, mom), filled with an abundance of lobster and topped with Ritz cracker crumbs. What makes this dish so successful, and conversely, what other disastrous mac ’n cheese imitations lack, is its perfectly cooked noodles (neither too soggy nor crisp) and its spot-on amount of cheese (neither too gooey nor dry).

Desserts do not disappoint. I’m positively sure that my wife’s peach cobbler, sans Bourbon cream and hot caramel, would have greatly benefited from these two ingredients, but her dairy allergy prohibited her from including these. Even so, the warmed cobbler has me yearning for the fall season given its fresh, slightly tart taste. I venture to sample another of Chef Husband’s renowned desserts – his Andy’s Signature Banana Cream Pie. While the concoction doesn’t quite stack up to my all-time favorite banana cream pie (that distinction goes to Joan and Ed’s Deli in Natick, MA) given its surprising lack of density (banana filling-wise), it’s a pretty close second. Other pie lovers might have a greater appreciation for Husband’s lighter, flakier version, which is lightly drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauces and comes with a crackling-good piece of nut brittle.

Service, on the whole, is satisfactory. Although our waitress is knowledgeable of the menu and prompt, she does not go out of her way to make us feel wholly welcomed (for heaven’s sake, crack a joke or even a smile!). It doesn’t help matters that she fails to ask if we want any beverages with our desserts. This lack of focus in service, however, is quickly forgiven since the kitchen staff is nice enough to bring out our courses and explain them to us tableside.

Value, at least for this evening, is spectacular. We are fortunate enough to discover an establishment that actually offers its Restaurant Menu on Saturdays (most restaurants exclude this day). A 3-course gourmet meal for $33? OK, tack on the $14 valet parking fee associated with most South End dining destinations. But I dare you to find me a handful of other high-end restaurants at such a bargain (on most evenings, outside of Restaurant Week, appetizers range from $8-10, entrees in the low-to-mid-$20 range, and desserts at $6). No 911 calls here. Paul’s Palate has the 411 on Tremont 647: it’s one of the best restaurants the 02118 has to offer.

Orinoco Will Drive You Loco (In More Ways Than One)

2008-05-18T14:11:00.001-07:00

Orinoco, one of the South End’s well-kept secret dining destinations, is clandestine no more. The flagship’s popularity has skyrocketed to the point where extended waiting times have forced its owners to open a second location in the equally bustling, trendy college scene that has become Brookline Village (Harvard Street, to be exact). On its website, Orinoco’s owners claim that its restaurant’s origins were inspired by “’tagueritas,’ small casual rustic eateries found along Venezuelan roadsides.” This Venezuelan establishment’s claim to fame has not only stemmed from its uncanny ability to re-create this very ambience, but to offer a blend of Andes and Caribbean-inspired fare at an affordable price to its customers. Given his love of linguistics, Paul’s Palate discovered that the Orinoco itself is one of South America’s largest rivers. Would he find Orinoco’s ‘waters’ (more specifically, its fare) tranquil or choppy?

Orinoco’s atmosphere certainly has a lot going in its favor. The lively bar, for one, resides smack dab in its epicenter, and on a pleasantly warm spring night, it indeed feels as if we’ve inhabited one of those quaint tagueritas to which Orinoco’s website has alluded. On this particular evening, several chic-looking patrons bypass the booths and head directly for the bar. It’s no wonder why: the wine list consists of an extensive and diverse selection from Chile and Argentina and beers hail from exotic regions such as Brazil, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic. And don’t you dare consider departing Orinoco without consuming one of its renowned mojitos (rum, lime, and crushed mint). Sure, it may take several minutes to prepare, but these are some of the tastiest, refreshing cocktails I’ve sampled in some time. I actually sip upon a cojito, which is infused with freshly-cut coconut slices. In addition, Orinoco scores points for its lively artwork, which includes authentic Caribbean masks and lively golden-splashed walls on which these decorations are displayed.

As for the rest of Orinoco’s surroundings, however, the ‘waters’ begin to muddy given some gaping flaws. For one, in contrast to the spacious bar, the remainder of the restaurant’s interior is rather small and inexcusably cramped. No more than eight to ten booths adorn the sides, while group-style tables (yes, eating with thy neighbor makes for slightly uncomfortable eating) account for the remainder. Reminiscent of the movie In The Line of Fire, I find myself frequently pressing my chair against the table in order to allow servers to pass by. I and my fellow diners also routinely resort to shouting given the extremely poor acoustics of the space.

Proceeding on to our food, appetizers are ample in size and more than moderate in taste. Although the empanadas (traditional Latin American turnover patties) are neither as flaky nor crispy as one would have expected from this Caribbean delicacy, they are flavorful. My sole complaint about the Mechada (filled with Venezuelan style shredded beef) is its surprising hollowness and lack of beef (which is excellent). My favorite empanada is the Verde: one might think that a diverse mix of ingredients including plantain dough, mushrooms, piquillo, manchego cheese, and salsa verde might lead to culinary overkill, but this combination works wonderfully. One eating companion raves about the arepas (traditional Venezuelan grilled corn pocket sandwiches), but I do not concur: I find the Guayanesa (filled with said creamy cheese) disappointingly bland, although it is spruced up by a zesty, mustard like sauce which accompanies it. In my mind, the most memorable starter of the evening by far are the datiles, show-stoppers which become instant mouth-poppers and consist of sweet dates encompassed by almonds and bacon.

As the evening progresses, the quality of Orinoco’s fare increases with it, as evidenced by the Principales (entrees). My wife’s churrasquito (grilled tenderloin) is cooked to a happy medium, and a perfect balance is struck between the salty-spiciness of the accompanying salsa chimi and the coolness of the crab picadillo. The asparagus that sits atop the strip of meat, however, seems extraneous. The dish would have benefited from being paired with a more traditional side such as beans or rice. I order my dish, the cordero, based upon hearsay that this is Orinoco’s signature dish. Picture this: panela-plantain-crusted lamb chops doused in a spicy mint mojo sauce. This mouth-watering concoction has me at ‘hola (hello).’ Similar to the churrasquito, I would have preferred a bolder side to compliment the succulent meat. The watercress blue cheese salad is a bit dull, and perhaps could have been substituted with a nice starchy substance (sweet plantains, perhaps?).

Dessert is memorable, though not unforgettable. The torta fluida (molten chocolate cake with 100 percent Venezuelan dark chocolate) certainly comes out hot and gooey. The chocolate itself is not overpoweringly sweet (that’s a good thing) considering that the Venezuelan variety is typically dark and bittersweet. When it comes to presentation, however, Orinoco’s torta does not ‘take the cake.’ I realize that Orinoco aims for casual simplicity, but serving a dessert in a disposable tin cup…Estais loco (are you crazy)?

Another glaring omission: despite Orinoco’s seemingly inviting atmosphere, one which appears to be conducive to both couples and families, there is not one single menu item from which to choose that would be appropriate for a child to consume. Our poor child is left to nibble on a couple of sweet plantains (and yes, we fortunately brought crackers as our backup).

For all its flaws (and there are several), however, Orinoco almost accounts for them all with its more-than-adequate service (our server is genial, prompt, and spot-on with her recommendations) and superior prices (appetizers between $6-$8?; entrees ranging from $13-$19?; desserts averaging a shade under $5? As Bart Simpson so eloquently stated, ‘Ay caramba!’). Would Paul’s Palate consider frequenting this local taguerita in the near future? Most likely not, unless he’s able to get his hands on one of those dreamy, yummy mojitos.

Masa Brings Heat and Coolness All at Once

2008-04-28T08:55:00.000-07:00

How does one classify a unique restaurant such as Masa? Let me give it a whirl: a slightly upscale Southwestern eatery (think Border Café casualness combined with more experimental, daring cuisine). Executive Chef Philip Aviles’s unconventional usage of ingredients and his eclectic menu have had customers returning in droves to this South End mainstay. How appropriate, then, for Masa to be situated on equally dynamic Tremont Street. Would Paul’s Palate find himself lassoed into this sizzling Southwestern scene?

Masa makes no apologies for its casual appearance and atmosphere. While we’re in for a superior dining experience, it’s as if the colors and walls instruct us to sit down, relax, sip a margarita, and enjoy ourselves. It’s obvious (and slightly embarrassing, I might add) that we’ve overdressed for the occasion. Clearly, dressing down is an acceptable custom here. And that’s OK by us.

To the left, the copper bar is a nice touch, and the main dining area is spacious enough. The high ceilings do not prevent us from conducting a coherent tableside conversation with our companions. The chandeliers are an oddity in the room (is someone aiming for the Southwestern Victorian era?), but that’s just knit-picking. For better or for worse, given its Southwestern ambience, brown colors dominate the scene (I oddly feel transported into a UPS commercial). I will, however, point out my dissatisfaction regarding the ‘lipped’ booths. I felt like I was doing the meringue just to get in and out of my seat. And that’s not even accounting for the expectant couple with whom we dined. What dance did she need to learn in order to maneuver into her seat? Also a glaring negative: the calamitous state of the bathrooms was, how do I put this politely, reminiscent of the O-K Corral? Casualness needs to have its boundaries.

I’ve heard that Masa’s cocktails are notorious for offsetting some of its zesty fare. I must therefore admit slight disappointment with these beverages. The caramelized apple martini sounds promising, but packs minimal apple flavor and no hint of caramel. The pear mojito comes with excess vodka, too little pear. My favorite of the bunch is the sangria margarita, which is modestly sweet, smooth and refreshing.

While Masa’s cocktails are a mild let down, its cuisine, in the words of the show Iron Chef America, reigns supreme. For starters, my wife orders negra modelo battered fish tacos, and yes, they’re as scrumptious as they sound. The silky smooth fish is served in a soft tortilla wrap, with dollops of a creamy avocado salsa verde and a chipotle taramind sauce that lends a wonderfully smoky flavor to the dish. I order the smoked mussel and tilapia ceviche cocktail, which consists of a dramatic combination of clamato (think spicy clam-tomato base – yum!) and cilantro. But that’s not all: our wonderfully affable, attentive, and knowledgeable server (he somehow reminds me of the charming American Idol contestant, David Archuleta) recommends pouring a potent tequila floater over the ceviche. Throw in homemade cornbread with a trio of distinctive spreads (peppery cream cheese, bean, and molasses butter – yum, again!), and Chef Aviles has successfully cast his spell upon us.

The aforementioned appetizers are glorified showstoppers. The entrees, equally creative and delicious in their own right, could easily have headlined this evening’s event had we not encountered some minor gaffes with the sides that accompanied them. My chipotle apricot glazed short ribs are cooked perfectly medium rare, and possess a wonderfully velvety texture. The apricot jam is not overpoweringly sweet, though the chipotle’s spiciness is missing. What the dish lacks in spice, however, it more than accounts for with its sides. The grilled pineapple salsa is a deceptively zesty compliment (I must admit that my wife mistook it for mashed potatoes, and after one bite, rushed to sip her glass of water). The crisp Southwestern cole slaw, however, is so fire-alarmingly hot that it is practically inedible. My wife’s crushed chile pepper grilled pork tenderloin with ‘Masa’ gnocci is good, but not great. The pork is yet again perfectly cooked, but the sides, once again, are perplexing. Had it not been for my wife’s dairy allergy, I believe she would have certainly enjoyed the dish more: in lieu of what sounds to be a luscious topping of Mexican chocolate cherry mole, the chef substitutes this with a mild chile-lime sauce that lacks punch. The fresh strawberry salsa is minimal and not as flavorful as it sounds. The gnocci, albeit tasty, total only four potatoe-y pellets in all.

Dessert is the unanimous winner of the evening. Imagine this ethereal combination: warmed banana bread pudding with chocolate-banana ice cream (did I say yum already?). In fact, as I let the bread pudding sit on my palate, I unexpectedly discover a mild spiciness begin to set in. The ice cream counters this sensation and serves as the perfect balance to the dish. When asked about the ingredient that has caused my senses to stir, our server politely (almost with a humorous wink, no doubt he has heard this line of questioning from other diners) tells us that he unfortunately cannot divulge the chef’s secret ingredient.

Masa in Spanish means 'dough.' And like many astute customers, I’m not only concerned about the variety that’s being kneaded in the kitchen. The dough to which I’m alluding is the amount of cash that leaves my wallet at the end of the evening. When drinks range from $8-10, appetizers between $7-12, and entrees around $20-25, I equate this to money well spent (just keep in mind that there’s a $16 valet charge on top of all this). Casual ambience, great service, and delectable, often inspiring fare: these traits all translate into a winning culinary combination in my book.

Gaslight Adds Fuel to Fiery South End Dining Scene

2008-03-31T11:36:00.001-07:00

Ever have the urge to sample delicious French cuisine without leaving the comfortable confines of Massachusetts? Some diners might actually prefer taking the red-eye to Paris than splurging on a meal fit (and priced) for a king at the upscale Back Bay eatery, L’espalier. Gaslight Brasserie, conveniently located in the South End on Harrison Ave, is a more reasonably priced alternative established by Boston’s renowned culinary team, Aquitaine Group. Boston Magazine and Phantom Gourmet have recently bestowed the dreaded ‘it’ label upon this new dining hotspot. Would Paul’s Palate agree with these assessments or spit out Gaslight’s cuisine like bad pate?

Give Gaslight’s creative team credit: in terms of overall authenticity, the restaurant’s mosaic subway tiles, reclaimed wood floors, nicotine-stained walls, beamed wood ceilings, and shimmering antique mirrors all shine brightly (no pun intended). Although the handcrafted Parisian zinc bar is visually breathtaking, it attracts such a large number of hip patrons this evening that they practically spill over into the dining area. While I am appreciative that Aquitaine Group intended for this bistro to be more casual, these surroundings are completely devoid of any sense of privacy and intimacy. Our party needs to resort to shouting in order to maintain any semblance of conversation. It doesn’t help matters that we’ve been seated behind a partition that is not completely shielded from the main entrance, which results in sporadic, periodic bouts of the chills. Seating arrangements are creative enough, if not a tad chaotic, ranging from café and communal tables to booths and banquets.

Gaslight’s cuisine, however, is what has attracted us to this locale in the first place, and fortunately it offsets any minor issues we’ve encountered with the ambience. Though its fare is less sophisticated than L’espalier, Gaslight serves what is essentially Parisian comfort food. For starters, the Onion Soup Gratinee (fancy term for French Onion Soup) is the ideal remedy to the aforementioned chills we’re experiencing, with its hearty broth saturated with sweet onions and gooey slabs of cheese. The Escargots de Bourgogne (snails served with garlic and parsley) are neither as meaty nor garlicy as I had hoped. The moist steak tartare, however, which comes highly recommend by our patient, courteous server, is a revelation, served with aioli and croutons. The former ingredient infuses the tartare with just the right amount of spice.

Entrees are equally enjoyable. I find myself strangely drawn to a non-Parisian dish, the Choucroute Garni. This German-themed dish consists of frankfurter, garlic sausage, braised apples, duck confit, and sauerkraut. Strange choice, you ask? You bet. Overall, I’d rate the dish as slightly above satisfactory for the following reasons: the frankfurter is a tad bland, the garlic sausage above average, and the duck is moist and divine. I would have preferred a more pungent apple broth base (sorry, no actual apples to be had) as opposed to overkill on the amount of sauerkraut. I must, however, applaud Gaslight for its willingness (like my dining tastes) to venture out of its comfort zone. They refuse to play their food selections safe. Other foreign items on the menu I’d venture to try the next time I’m there include veal wiener schnitzel and daube nicoise (braised beef ragout with olives, orange, tomato and buttered noodles).

My wife orders a more traditional French steak frite with béarnaise sauce, and it is mouth-wateringly good, perfectly cooked to a pink medium. The bar steak is equally delectable, and a tad spicier, layered with a mustard cream sauce. The couple across from us order the poelee espagnol (cod pan roast with shellfish and chorizo). While the fish is moist enough, the chorizo lacks expected spice, in part due to the accompanying sauce a l’amoricaine, which is nothing more than a fancy term for bland marsala wine sauce.

Without a moment’s hesitation, our server recommends the housemade chocolate beignets with crème anglais. What are these, you ask? Imagine chocolate fried dough with a molten chocolate lava center. Hey, are you still with me here? I forgive you for your lack of attention. I, too, lost my focus when dreaming of popping these delicious bite-sized morsels into my mouth. This concoction is the showstopper of the evening, and has all of raving about it long after we have departed for the evening.

In terms of value, what’s not to like about Gaslight? For one, I’ll take the complimentary free parking, a rarity in this section of Boston. Hors D’oeuvres (appetizers) average between $7-$10. Cocktails fluctuate between $8-$11. The majority of Plats prinipaux (entrees) range between $16-$19 and all desserts come in just a shade under $7. You do the math: take a highly satisfactory meal, about three-quarters that of what you’d experience at L’espalier, but cut your bill there in half. I don’t claim to possess strong math acumen, but I believe former game show host Bob Barker said it best: the price is right.

'Met'-Like Collapse

2008-03-18T04:18:00.000-07:00

Like the epic collapse of baseball’s New York Mets (how befitting this parallel in names is) at the conclusion of last year’s regular season, Met Bar & Grill suffers a similar fate. The Met is unable to live up to the enormous amounts of pressure and lofty expectations set forth by its esteemed ‘big brother’ eatery just down the road along Route 9, Chestnut Hill’s more formal Metropolitan Club.

Sure, it seems like a great idea for the upscale Metropolitan Club to create a more family-oriented, informal dining destination that maintains its trendy edge. Ingenious, I might add, to expand within the bustling Natick Collection, New England’s largest mall. Like the vast expanses of the mall itself, with its unique curves, spectacular skylights, and stores both high-end (Nordstram’s, Louis Vuitton) and more pedestrian (JC Penney and McDonald’s) in nature, Met Bar & Grill at least succeeds in attracting all types of crowds through its doors. And like the throngs of customers who have traveled through the ‘great indoors’ and have finally arrived at this dining destination, our appetites are whetted.

Fashion-wise, the restaurant’s appearance is hit-and-miss. Much like the Natick Collection’s stunning architecture, Met Bar’s appeal is sleek and can be easily viewed from its entrance. Take for instance the enthralling burger bar, where about a dozen seats surround a fire-breathing vertical grill. The illuminated bar is also a plus, though on the small side for a moderately-sized eatery. The walls are splashed with a warm, yet far too dark tan-brown paint, which not only clash with the dark brown mahogany tables but make for difficult menu viewing. Walk out back behind the bar, and to our chagrin, there resides an expansive dining room with paintings of both international and domestic city landscapes plastered across the back walls. The crumbs strewn across the room’s carpeting, however, are a major blemish. I highly doubt that the Met’s intention was to replicate metropolitan dining in this level of detail.

Most unfortunately for us, Met Bar & Grill’s food does not justify the effort it takes to get there. Drinks are fine enough, though a tad high in price. My Barcelona Club, more commonly known as red sangria, comes highly recommended by our astute server, and consists of wine, Methilda poire, basil, and seasonal juices. The cocktail wins high marks for its lack of tartness and moderate sweetness, which is exacerbated by an inclusion of fresh pears. After the drinks, however, the quality of our meals rapidly plummets.

Word on the street is that it’s the signature, handmade, cooked-to-order hamburgers, creatively segmented by international and domestic geography, for which this establishment is renowned. So why is it that my exorbitantly priced $14 Tokyo burger (labeled a double burger, but small in portion), which allegedly consists of a richer cut of Kobe beef and is topped with a seemingly mouth-watering array of condiments that includes soy sauce, wasabi mayo, and pickled ginger, so utterly bland, dry and tasteless? It makes me thankful that I didn’t order one of the mini burgers, which are more prone to being overcooked. The french fries are equally dry, a tad cold, and offensively salty. A quick glance around the table reveals several downward glares and long bouts of silence from my eating companions. It is easy to ascertain that they, too, are not enamored with their selections. Had our toddlers not accompanied us to this more family-friendly environment, we would have promptly sent these back to the kitchen without hesitation.

Sadly, Met Bar and Grill does little to impress this critic. On a scale from poor to fantastic, at best I’d rate this meal as a ‘Met-za, Metza’ experience. In fact, if you're looking for a cheaper, more succulent burger alternative, less the trendy atmosphere, head over to Mr. Bartley's in student-friendly Harvard Square. They segment their burgers into celebrity names (such as the Bill Clinton), and unlike the Met's geographically named meats, Bartley's beef is the real deal.

Livin' La Vida Rocca

2008-03-03T11:19:00.000-08:00

Rocca has widely been hailed by local foodies as one of the South End’s finest, hippest new dining destinations. Its free parking, for one, is a rare luxury that had me at hello. What about the food, you ask? When Rocca opened up its doors on Harrison Avenue back in April, 2007, some observers quibbled that it could easily have been mistaken for an upscale tapas bar given its miniscule portions. Nearly a year later, however, chef Tom Fosnot has apparently taken his cue from these customers, expanding both his menu items and portion sizes. Would his Ligurian-inspired (Italian Riviera) cuisine rival - and perhaps exceed – that belonging to his esteemed South End counterparts (such as Mistral and Stella)?

My wife and I venture out on chilly Sunday evening to sample Rocca’s aptly-named, uber-affordable prixe-fix menu as part of its Sunday Supper series, in which two courses and ‘sweet’ register at a wallet-friendly $22. Unless you’ve been locked away in a closet, it’s no secret that several upscale Boston eateries have recently created these cheaper dining alternatives with the hope of attracting additional customers during these difficult economic times.

Upon our arrival, Rocca is shockingly devoid of customers. The restaurant’s two-story interior, with eye-popping features that include cork walls and graffiti, is sleek and modern. Its lower level consists solely of a smallish bar/lounge area replete with plush sofas. Although this area is clearly a spot to which attractive people flock during the week, it lacks the visual panache, polish, and ‘it’ factor which makes neighboring Stella’s bar/lounge area superiorly vibrant (might this be where all of the patrons have congregated this evening?).

We proceed upstairs to the larger, more dramatic dining room. An illuminated light that fluctuates between colors flows across the ceiling like water down a riverbed. The general layout of this room, however, remains a mystery. Why not let the room breathe easily (similar to the overhead lighting) in an open space as opposed to partitioning it off into different sections? The antique movie posters and ropes attached to some of the walls violently clash with the otherwise modern ambience that permeates throughout the room.

Minor fashion faux-pas aside, let’s focus on the food, shall we? Parched with thirst, I order a cocktail coyly named ‘Scandolo al Sole,’ a unique concoction of homemade limoncello, tequila, grand marnier, and ginger beer. The mild sweet and sour flavor I am seeking from this beverage, however, is unfortunately wiped away by the overpowering acidity attributed to excess amounts of ginger beer.

More to my liking is a hearty portion of sweet and sour calamari, and not merely the doughy and overly saucy variety you’d typically expect to see in similar settings. These calamari are lightly breaded and interlaced with red and yellow peppers that infuse the dish with its sweet and sour flavors. This appetizer is so delectable, in fact, that the accompanying tartar sauce seems unnecessary. My wife and I also devour a silky, light farinata – chickpea flatbread with caramelized onions, mushrooms, and sage – served pie-like and reminiscent of a top-notch potato latke.

We move on to our entrée, which consists of veal cheeks served over saffron risotto. Although noticeably smaller in portion size than the preceding appetizer, the veal is deceptively rich in flavor and equally hearty. Though a tad on the fatty side (these are veal cheeks, after all), the meat is otherwise cooked to our liking and literally melts in our mouths. Although the accompanying risotto fails to surpass Mistral’s award-winning recipe (whose does?) given some goopy excess liquid, it adequately serves as a light, zesty compliment to the veal.

Our dessert, or ‘treat,’ is equally divine, though on a smaller scale portion-wise. A playful take on the ice cream sandwich – dense vanilla ice cream packed between two moist mini chocolate chip cookies, served with a warm dark chocolate dipping sauce - is far superior than the one I’d purchased on many occasions as a child from the local ice cream truck.

As for intangibles, Rocca passes with flying colors. Service exceeds my expectations, as our waitress, though not the most animated of servers, is competent, knowlegable of the menu, and attentive to our needs. In terms of cleanliness, not a breadcrumb is to be found, not even up the lengthy stairwell (though I will say that the men’s room is surprisingly chilly). And did I forget to praise Rocca’s easy-to-find location and conveniently situated free parking lot (hello, $15)?
Lastly, for sheer value, where else can one consume a three-course gourmet meal for $22 (Sunday evenings only)? Irrespective of Sunday offerings, Rocca’s appetizers weigh in between $8-$12, pastas average $12-$16, fish and meat entrees range from $19-$24, and desserts come in at $7-$9. Perhaps other universally respected but utterly pricey South End institutions such as Mistral and Hammersley’s Bistro would be wise to follow suit (ahem, $40 entrees, anyone?). Or perhaps Paul’s Palate is merely livin’ la via Rocca?

LOCO, I think I love you...

2008-02-15T10:55:00.000-08:00

Dearest LOCO, beloved to me in the way you seductively offer the convenience of providing gourmet cuisine at only an arm’s length distance…You are my one and only amore to which I would like to dedicate this voracious Valentine’s Day greeting. I am not ashamed to say that you make me want to be a better diner. I vividly recall our first date several months ago: you were a younger and smaller restaurant then, located on a more tranquil side of town (Easton, Route 138) and tucked away into that quaint little shopping plaza which you called home. You showed gusto, however, when you represented yourself to local patrons as an authentic, upscale Spanish restaurant. Some skeptics laughed and believed your stay woule be ephemeral, but, like a smitten suitor, I dutifully remained by your side. After all, I found your sleek, intimate interior, your superior service, and your flavorful fare to be charming and intoxicating.

I must apologize, however, for the months that passed whereby not a morsel of food traveled from your plates into my mouth. Now that your one year anniversary has come and gone, I can see how you’ve grown and matured. Your owner, Jim Messinger, has wisely re-located you to a larger and more convenient space across town on Route 106 (near Five Corners) that is befitting of your many talents. Your allure, however, has largely remained intact: from the dark red-splashed walls to your genial, attentive wait staff, you haven’t changed one bit.

If there would be one major obstacle in our relationship that I could pinpoint, it would be the way in which you periodically tease me. Why must you insist on keeping me waiting forty-five minutes on the most romantic evening of the year when I had made reservations well in advance? Your friend, Jim, had shared with me in past conversations that he was working on developing a system to drastically reduce your wait time, but apparently there still exists a 2-hour wait on Friday nights. I will forgive you, however, given the dearth of fine dining establishments in the area. Clearly, you’re in demand, and not just the object of my affections. Sharing you with others makes me jealous, you know. At least you promptly e-mail me back when I have questions about your menu, I’ll give you that. You’ve always been courteous to me.

I also have just a couple of minor quibbles about your more new space. First, the expanded lounge area proved difficult to navigate through, particularly with traffic lines of customers occupying this area. I felt like a rat in one of those endless mazes, breathlessly weaving in and out amongst a plethora of leather seats and plastic tables. Second, due to a lack of a partition between the bar/lounge and main dining areas along with your high ceilings, the acoustics made it virtually impossible to conduct a conversation without resorting to shouting.

But let me take a moment to praise your many attributes, beginning first and foremost with the quality of food that comes out of your kitchen. My compliments to your Executive Chef, Melissa Batty, who utilizes relatively simple ingredients (such as olive oil) to create complex, savory dishes. Take, for instance, your fine selection of tapas calientes (hot tapas), specifically the patatas bravas. Merely fried potatoes, a mere foodie novice would assume. However, one bite reveals the potato’s slightly crisped (just perfect) exterior along with its moist, warm, cakey interior (even more perfect). Batty’s decision to cook this potato in olive oil makes these fried concoctions that much easier on the stomach. The lemon allioli garnishing these potatoes is also a refreshing touch: it cleanses the palate and compliments the mild spiciness of the accompanying tomato sauce. The fabada, though a smaller tapa portion, is an austurian stew whose white beans might be the largest I’ve ever seen (yes, you could say that they amount to a hill of beans) and whose base is light and zesty. The seared foie gras, playfully served alongside a grilled pear, buttery croutons, and a miniature apple, is mouthwateringly soft and scrumptious. My one complaint about this dish is its miniscule portion. Between my wife and I, we took no more than six bites of this delicacy before it vanished altogether from our plates.

One down note to the food festivities: prior to re-connecting, promises were made to me insisting that your rioja braised beef short ribs were divine. I must therefore express my disappointment at the relative blandness and fatiness of the meat. The caramelized root vegetables were visually evident on the ribs but lacked any substantive flavor. Shitake mushrooms alleged to be an ingredient were all but missing in action. The amount of fat on the ribs was extensive, and I felt like a jilted lover when faced with the need to adroitly cut away this extraneous residue in a small bowl and a poorly lit area, neither of which was conducive to using utensils. I don’t believe in cheating, my darling, but at that moment, I pondered leaving you for another dining destination. Your friend, Jim, however, convinced me not to break up with you, assuring me that we must order either the paella or the salmon (given that this is shipped three days in advance of most fish on the market, he claims it tastes as if it came right out of the ocean) during our next visit.

But like an aged wine, you improved over time. Particularly when it came to your exquisite desserts, my sweet. The peras al vino was simple but elegant, just like you. The warm pear poached in white wine and cinnamon was a light treat. I also indulged in your signature chocolate flan, which surprised me again and again with its potently sweet, dense, custard-mouse combination of dulce de leche and cocoa nibs. The flan was indisputably one of the most unique and memorable concoctions I’ve ever had the fortune of tasting.

Like every couple out there, we’re bound to have our disagreements, but at the end of the day, it’s you, and no one else, with whom I’d rather be spending my meals. LOCO, I’m crazy about you, and I think you’ve got great legs – that is, when it comes to my outlook on your long-term success in the town of Easton.

The Mystique of Mistral

2007-12-28T12:10:00.000-08:00

Would Mistral, located on Columbus Avenue in Boston’s chic South End district, live up to its lofty reputation as one of the city’s trendiest, tastiest, and most expensive dining destinations? That was the question du jour for this reviewer, who was calmly prepared to drop over $200 for a meal allegedly suited for a king (well, it better be). As part of a formidable culinary quintet under the aptly named Commonwealth Restaurant Group (which includes elite eateries Teatro, Sorellina, Mooo, and the newly added L’Andana in Burlington, MA), chef/owner Jamie Mammano’s Mistral has just concluded its first decade-long run in Boston. In light of its notoriously renowned exorbitant prices, Mistral’s longevity has often been attributed to Mammano’s ability to create consistently delectable French Mediterranean fare for a hip (and wealthy) clientele. The term Mistral signifies ‘a dry, cold northerly wind that blows in squalls toward the Mediterranean coast of southern France.’ Would Paul’s Palate be ‘blown’ away by Mistral’s grandeur or would he wish he hadn’t ‘blown’ away his well-earned money on his meal there?

Mistral’s ambience is indeed a beautiful, sweeping accomplishment to behold. You feel like hip royalty (think Sofia Coppola’s recent film version of Marie Antoinette) upon entering its doors. On Mistral’s website, its interior is described as heavily influenced by the ethereal landscape of Provence in southern France. From its hand-picked French pottery, high ceilings, and arch terra cotta floor to ceiling windows, this bistro masterfully meshes French tranquility and regality with Bostonian modernism and sophistication. Tall cypress trees provide a convenient, scenic partition between Mistral’s chic, expansive lounge/bar (seating 40 patrons) and its dramatic main dining area (seating 140). It doesn’t hurt matters that the building’s acoustics actually enable me to conduct a meaningful, even comprehensible conversation with my wife. Paul’s Palate even tries to discreetly determine if Mistral falls victim to the dreaded breadcrumb virus that periodically breaks out at some of the city’s other restaurants, but alas, there is not a morsel to be found in this pristine establishment.

Subtract the stuffiness and arrogance one might think universally accompanies this type of atmosphere, add a hint of casualness, and this is what makes Mistral so refreshingly inviting for first-timers such as myself. Everything about this restaurant implies, “Sure, you’ll be emptying out your wallet this evening, but we sincerely welcome you here and hope to see you again soon.”

Our server arrives, and he is genial, knowledgeable, witty, and attentive all at once, which is no small feat. He applauds our audacity to sample the most adventurous of appetizers from the menu. One such selection, a sushi tuna tartare with crispy wontons, is lusciously soft and packs a potent kick given its submersion in a zingy ginger and soy sauce (or perhaps this could be attributed to my consumption of a unique, but lively pear/ginger martini?). The other: seared foie gras with a confit of duck in brioche. The succulent meat of the duck is perfectly accentuated by a sweet-tangy tart Wisconsin cherry reduction, enough so that I found the brioche to be superfluous to the dish. So far, so good, and away on to the entrees we go.

Although I express some reluctance in ordering the half ‘whole roasted’ duck given my previous, albeit delicious, encounter with this pheasant in the form of the foie gras, our server assures me that the former dish is distinct enough to warrant a gander (no pun intended). Gobble, gobble, indeed: although this particular duck possesses the same moistness of its fowl predecessor, it contains a sprinkle of mild cranberry gastrique so as not to make the dish overpoweringly sweet. Its skin is buttery and smooth, atypical of the crunchy, tasteless covering that typically surrounds this type of bird. Underneath the duck lies a superlative wild mushroom risotto, undeniably the best Paul’s Palate has ever consumed. Unlike most risotto, which is pasty in texture and heavy on the stomach, this concoction is light, yet hearty, and plenty flavorful (the sweet mushrooms take center stage). I would have been more than content spending my entire evening wolfing down this miraculous side dish. Neither does my wife’s roasted rack of Colorado lamb disappoint. Three ‘ginormous’ (yes, they’re that large) are playfully presented atop - what else – that unforgettable mushroom risotto, and prove to be meaty, fatless, and perfectly cooked. Chef Mammano’s cuisine has thus far left a most positive imprint.

Desserts provide a saccharinely sensational conclusion to the evening. My wife’s eyeballs immediately shoot skyward upon delving into a rich, dense Belgian chocolate sorbet. Where else but here would such a rare sorbet be offered to the dairy-deficient masses? My warm apple tart with maple walnut ice cream, albeit simple in presentation, is the ultimate comfort food. The sweet and sour flavored theme that worked to perfection with the aforementioned foie gras reappears here with equally striking success.
Let me be frank: Paul’s Palate immensely enjoyed Mistral, enough so, perhaps, so as to place this esteemed establishment on his top five all-time favorites list. In fact, I can’t wait to go back there. Wait, let me re-phrase that: my empty wallet prohibits me from doing so. Let’s do the math: appetizers average $16-$18, entrees between $35-$40, and desserts at $10. Tack on a couple of cocktails ($12 apiece) and customary $15 valet parking, and your tab soars well north of $200. That’s a hefty price to pay for near perfection, to which Mistral comes awfully close. Looking for that romantic dining spot to celebrate a special occasion? Certainly. A return affair, however? Only if you’re buying, my dear friends. I believe Mastercard said it best: ‘the cost of a wonderfully prepared gourmet meal: $200; the mortified expression on your face having perused your ridiculously expensive bill: priceless.’

Spanish Inquisition

2007-12-20T08:57:00.000-08:00

When Paul’s Palate is invited to a cordial after-work Holiday party, he finds himself transformed into a latter-day Ebenezer Scrooge. “Bah hum-bug,” I say, to overrated holiday spirit and hopes for a bright new year. But when this invitation is accompanied by the words ‘…at one of Rhode Island’s nicest restaurants,’ well, his interest, and taste buds immediately awaken. The restaurant in question: Spain, a decorous outfit situated on busy Route 2 in Cranston, RI, whose ‘authentic’ Spanish cuisine supposedly has local food aficionados in the Ocean State swimming with praise. Would Paul’s Palate find himself swept along in this tide of superlatives or would he end up drowning in negativity?

As far as ambience goes, Spain has oodles of it, if not an excess of it. Despite being cramped in alongside bustling Route 2 and having a shockingly limited amount of parking for such a large establishment, it is evident that Spain desperately wants customers to feel as if they have been whisked away into the streets of Madrid. From its glamorous courtyard dining area, to a posh bar, to segmented rooms on a luxurious second floor, however, the term ‘authentic’ does not exactly spring to mind. Having traveled across this bucolic country several years ago, Paul’s Palate recalls how this region prides itself in its simplicity and graciousness (more on that later). Spain (the restaurant), however, seems to find itself caught in an identity crisis: from its marble tiles to its backlit bar to its ‘I’m cooler than you’ll ever be’ staff, this establishment speaks in a foreign tongue. Spain can’t decide if it’s better to dine in a tranquil Spanish garden or a more elaborate upscale, gourmet setting, so it bafflingly elects to be both.

While the food at Spain rates as certainly above average, the menu offerings do not yell out authentic Spanish fare. Spain half-heartedly gets things right with such side dishes as esparragos a la vinagreta (imported Spanish white asparagus topped with olive oil and shaved vinaigrette), grilled smoked chorizo (Spanish sausage), and gazpacho. Other dishes, however, are just plain insulting in terms of their categorization as Spanish fare: Picasso and Spain salads are nothing more than seasonal lettuce sprinkled with olive oil dressing and Gorgonzola cheese. And what gives with Spain’s insistence to stuff anything in everything with shrimp, scallops, and crabmeat, such as mushroom caps, and vieras rellenas (stuffed scallops)? Surely, Picasso (the late, great Spanish artist) would be rolling in his grave at such non-traditional nonsense. Other appetizers, such as calamari, jumbo shrimp cocktail, and clam casino are certainly not Spanish delicacies. Bring on some tapas, demands this confounded critic, but sadly, there are none of these tiny, tasty regional specialties to be had. To make matters worse, the white sangria, a mix of orange juice and white wine, lacks the customary zip that Paul’s Palate expects from this typically potent beverage.

The entrees, in all fairness, appear to be more successful in their attempt to re-create the Spanish fare I’ve come to know and love. Dishes such as veal Jerez (veal filets sauteed with asparagus, spinach, imported prosciutto, and provolone in a light Jerez sherry sauce), solomillo del cerdo (pork tenderloin with a port wine wild berry shitake mushroom sauce), camarones diablo (shrimp prepared in a Romano tomato with an herb spice sauce) and paella marinera (shellfish baked in saffron rice) all sound appetizing. Our server confidently recommends the veal Spain, which consists of a provimi veal loin chop with – you guessed it – lobster, crabmeat, smoked ham, Castilian cheese, and topped with a mushroom Malaga wine sauce. The impressive presentation of this dish is eye-popping, for sure, and the sheer enormity of the loin chop instantly brings this image to mind: Fred Flintstone’s car topping over upon ordering his gigantic order of brontosauras ribs. The meat is succulent enough, but would it hurt the chef to err on the side of simplicity, not excess? There’s too much filler in the meat. Paul’s Palate would be content with lobster, crabmeat, or ham with his veal, but digesting all three makes him nauseous.

Speaking of wave-inducing nausea, Paul’s Palate finds the much-heralded level of service at Spain intolerable. While it is universally acknowledged that Spain (the country) prides itself on conducting meals at a leisurely pace, Spain (the restaurant) serves its meals at that of a snail’s. Our main server appears to be indifferent, if not downright rude to our table. It seems as if an hour has passed by before he takes our order, and he abruptly delegates the remainder of the meal to a group of servers. While these waiters are more attentive to our needs, there is a lack of continuity to the meal that that detracts from what should be a memorable dining experience. While Paul’s Palate is delighted to bite into homemade banana bread pudding, topped with a creamy vanilla-raspberry sauce, as the evening’s finale, the damage has already been done and, I’m afraid, is irreparable.

Although value is considered more than fair, with appetizers averaging $9 and most entrees ranging between $15-$22, overall Spain rates poorly given its lack of (or, dare I say, warped sense of) authentic Spanish atmosphere and cuisine. A lackluster, pretentious level of service does not help matters. Where’s the 'amor (love),' you ask? Paul’s Palate recommends seeking it out in the real Spain, not at this imposter of a fine dining establishment.

Stella Finds Its Groove

2007-10-29T08:15:00.000-07:00

Would Stella, a swanky new addition to the South End’s “restaurant row” situated on Washington Street, live up to its billing? After all, an inordinate amount of praise has been heaped upon this establishment, whose trendy ambience and Italian fare have allegedly made this one of Boston’s new dining hotspots. Would Paul’s Palate, like the late Marlon Brando in “A Streetcar Named Desire,” scream aloud Stella’s name in the form of superlatives or shame?

‘Chic’ is the first word that immediately comes to mind upon entering Stella’s pristine interior. Its main dining area is quite large (seats 60) and extends from front-to-back, and if you loop around by the busy kitchen, you’ll find a hidden treasure buried nearby: a smaller, more intimate private room (seats 50) directly overlooking both busy Washington Street and Stella’s seasonal terrazino (an outdoor patio which seats 50 more patrons!). Stella’s all-white interior, dimmed lighting, and illuminated bar create a sleek, modern vibe that is undeniably intoxicating. I half-heartedly expect some type of celebrity to walk into the room at any moment.

This is not to say that Stella’s atmosphere does not have its shortcomings. For one, Paul’s Palate nearly resorts to shouting in order to maintain any semblance of conversation given the poor acoustics, even in the private room. Despite Stella’s painstakingly complex interior design, the plastic wavy white chairs at our table are a fashion monstrosity, if not downright humorous. Lastly, we almost miss the restaurant itself given its lack of exterior lighting and signage. Noise factors aside, most of these minor flaws appear easily correctible.

Fortunately for us, my wife recognizes Stella’s Executive Chef, Robin King, as an acquaintance of hers. Mr. King is outgoing, energetic, and most importantly, both knowledgeable and passionate about the food he prepares. He later arrives at out table and shares with us his favorite dishes on the menu that evening.

The assortment of antipasti from which we choose is both unique and delicious. We begin with crispy fried artichoke hearts, which are playfully served on a narrow plate, and sit atop creamy, zesty country mustard remoulade. I would be more than happy to simply nibble on these tasty tidbits all evening long, but I remind myself that there is much more in store for the remainder of the meal. King also highly recommends the tuna tartare with fried eggs, to which Paul’s Palate responds with slight apprehension given his lack of exposure to raw tuna. One bite of this dish, however, and his tastebuds sing. This most certainly is a winning dish, and makes me want to run into the kitchen and thank Robin for his spot-on suggestion.

As if he were reading my mind, Mr. King brings out a couple of complimentary appetizers to our table. Of the two dishes, the grilled ‘pizze’ with Quattro funghi, shiitake mushrooms, crimini, oyster, and white truffle oil is my least favorite. It is surprisingly bland and lacks the crispness previously relayed to us by Robin. The marinated beet salad, however, served with goat cheese, champagne vinaigrette, and a crunchy crostini, is a marvel of a dish. This salad, along with the tuna tartare, is the last thing Paul’s Palate would ever consider ordering from the menu. Mr King and his diverse menu have miraculously, as the Monkees’ hit song goes, transformed me into a believer.

Pasta dishes are equally delectable. My hearty homemade spaghetti, although a simple dish, is perfectly cooked al dente, and possesses several layers of complexity in flavor, with its toasted garlic, olive oil, and parmesan ingredients. My wife’s orecchiette is also tasty, though a tad too spicy for my liking (King himself rates this dish an 8 out of 10 on the spicy scale), with its chile flakes interwoven with sausage and cured tomato. The couple seated across from us is also deeply appreciative of the quality of their meals. On one plate resides Stella homemade gnocchi, which is wonderfully light, packs a potent potato flavor, and is mixed with tomato, basil, and reggiano. On the other rests a succulent lamb shank surrounded by scrumptious mushroom risotto.

For dessert, the apple crostini comes in a light and fluffy pastry, but not surprisingly, the real stars are the apples, which are moist, warm, and lumpy. Might I add that this dish is accompanied by a steamy-sweet caramel sauce for dipping purposes? This sweet symphony proves so heavenly that Paul’s Palate actually passes on vanilla gelato that also accompanies this dessert.

Value-wise, Stella ranks as one of Paul’s Palate’s all-time favorites. There is simply a dearth of high-end gourmet restaurants that offer appetizers averaging $10 and entrees from $14-$26. Given the lack of weight removed from my wallet that night, I didn’t hesitate to surrender $16 for valet parking. Novelist Terry McMillan got it right after all: Stella most certainly has got her groove back, and Paul’s Palate finds this new culinary kid on the block groovy.

Getting Spoiled at L'Espalier

2007-10-19T06:38:00.000-07:00

Had Marie Antoinette, the French queen renowned for her extravagant lifestyle centuries ago, survived the guillotine to see L’Espalier, would she flock to eat at this prestigious French dining establishment, which also has been known to demonstrate a flair for the dramatic? After all, Chef/Proprietor Frank McClelland’s restaurant is widely regarded as the most romantic hotspot in all of Boston which boasts arguably the finest modern French cuisine around. In the absence of a time machine in which Paul’s Palate could travel to Versailles and query the Queen directly, he took it upon himself to travel in the present time to Boston and investigate this matter further.

Nestled slightly off of tranquil Gloucester Street (parallel to more bustling Newbury Street) in Boston’s Back Bay, L’Espalier’s sophistication is instantly evident. Beyond a regal-looking iron-gate entrance resides a restored 1880 townhouse in which L’Espalier is embedded. The restaurant’s pristine main dining area overlooks Gloucester Street, and its taupe and cream colored walls and cathedral-like ceiling provide a spacious, yet intimate setting. Our affable and knowledgeable Maitre d’, Louis Risoli, escorts my wife and I to our table. L’Espalier’s atmosphere, similar to its dress code, can be downright haughty and intimidating, but only if you permit it: after all, while jackets and ties are the encouraged methods of attire for male patrons, they are not required. After glancing across the room, it appears that my culinary counterparts, sans jackets and ties, provide a refreshing glimpse into what L’Espalier ultimately can be: a refined, yet relaxed dining experience.

Our first course is nothing short of excellence. My wife dives into a crisp salad layered with a zesty vinaigrette dressing and crunchy, flavorful nuts. Our server also brings over a large bowl solely containing a tiny circular substance, which leads me to ponder whether or not L’Espalier has actually fallen into the age-old stereotype of ‘French fare equates to plate bare.’ Thankfully, however, he swiftly returns and theatrically pours hot, steaming orange squash soup into the bowl. That aforementioned, questionable circular substance proves to be candied pumpkin, an innovative ingredient that meshes wonderfully with the squash and infuses additional flavor into this light, delightful concoction. Oh, and lest I forget to add that the homemade bread, particularly that of the fig and black olive varieties, is simply divine.

Our entrees also rate strongly, if slightly less so. My wife’s pan-roasted halibut is served in preserved lemon vinaigrette alongside tasty couscous. While the fish is light and buttery, the side order of couscous is almost an afterthought given its disappointing scarcity on the plate. My confit rabbit leg is cooked to perfection, which is no small feat, but once again, the meat on the leg is a bit lacking. The accompanying mashed potato-like polenta and brussel sprouts seem an odd pairing with rabbit at face value, but they surprisingly pull the dish together quite nicely.

Dessert is pure bliss. The chocolate decadence cake is artistically presented in a rectangular plate, alongside luscious blackberries and raspberries, wild strawberry anglaise, and a dollop of ethereal, uniquely flavored orange blossom ice cream.

As is to be expected in such an extravagant setting, service is superior. Although I would not characterize our server as being overly friendly, one cannot underscore the importance of the relaxed pacing he brought to the meal. Shouldn’t a meal ultimately resemble the contemplative nature one takes when sampling a fine wine, whereby conversation is reduced to a minimum so that the aromas and tastes may be more fully appreciated?

In terms of value, patrons may simply decide that traveling to France may prove more economical that venturing out to Gloucester Street. We were fortunate enough to sample the 3-course prix fixe lunch menu, which comes reasonably priced at $24 per person. Come dinner time, however, these prices soar to $75. For more ravenous (and wealthier) customers, a 7-course degustation tasting can be had for $94, and the chef’s tasting for a whopping $175. Tack on an additional $16 for valet parking (evenings only) given the congested traffic in the area and that Parisian trip might not sound so crazy after all.

Marie Antoinette was once rumored to have exclaimed, “Let them eat cake,” in reference to her unsympathetic stance on the decaying state of France’s impoverished citizens. The bottom line is this: Paul’s Palate happily ate his cake and more at L’Espalier, but could very easily have joined the ranks of the impoverished in the process. Make no mistake: he thoroughly enjoyed his dining experience there. Memorable? Yes. Unforgettable? Let’s just say that it did not make Paul’s Palate forget Paris.

Lineage is a Tradition Worth Keeping

2007-09-04T05:10:00.000-07:00

Given that this ravenous reviewer intends to take his mother out for an unforgettable birthday dinner, and spend it alongside his spouse, his brother, and his brother’s wife, what finer and more fitting way then but to spend it at Lineage, a Brookline-based eatery that celebrates family heritage? After all, Jeremy and Lisa Sewall form a potent husband-and-wife tandem whose concept of “Lineage” spawns from the former’s very own (for instance, one fascinating tidbit is that one of his predecessors served as Brookline’s first Town Clerk and even lent the name of his family’s “Brooklin” lands to this very community). Will Lineage ultimately continue Mr. Sewall’s longstanding family tradition of perfection or will Paul’s Palate recommend that this establishment be removed from the family tree?

Lineage’s interior is sleek, yet warm, and deceptively large. To our left, we discover an airy dining area, and straight ahead, a greenish, modestly-lit bar where several lively patrons are seated. We select a more slightly intimate room to our right, which includes plush carpeting and a soothing maritime painting sprawled against its back wall. Our jovial hostess greets us and directs us to our table.

What our server lacks in vivacity and menu mastery, she accounts for in both courtesy and attentiveness. Her first cocktail recommendation is a Brazilian rum that is supposed to be sweet but resembles nothing more than a bland mojito. The refreshingly sweet Lineage Lemonade, however, is a real crowd pleaser: refreshing, sweet, and playfully presented in the form of a “black and tan” (in this case, red and yellow).

For appetizers, our server encourages us to sample the luscious halibut tacos, a unique dish whose buttery, moist fish is the most mouth-watering I’ve had in recent memory. The only shortcoming here is that only four are plated. This reviewer is prepared to jump out of his seat and seek out Mr. Sewall to ascertain if this particular family recipe is for sale. Not to be outdone, however, is the homemade tomato soup served with truffle oil and crisp beignets. The soup is light, yet hearty, sooths one’s stomach, and is the perfect lead-in to our main courses.

My spouse’s pork is both succulent and meaty, accompanied by savory roasted figs, fingerling potatoes, and spinach. The remainder of our table gnaws on savory steak layered with bleu cheese and mashed potatoes. I must admit, however, that my homemade potato gnocchi dish reigns supreme. In stark contrast to most gnocchi dishes which are typically served Italian style (on the heavier side with tomato sauce), the Sewalls bravely render this delicacy as if it has emerged straight from their own personal garden. Sweet corn and vibrantly colored lobster mushrooms adorn this light, yet delectable dish.

The dessert debate begins and abruptly ends with Lineage’s signature dish, its butterscotch pudding. Once again, the Sewalls break slightly from tradition by replacing the prototypically gooey-textured concoction with a pasty, Mazapan-like sweet substance, which is drizzled with both Chantilly cream and caramelized pecans. This dish would convert the most skeptical of pudding phobes, myself included.

In terms of its location, Lineage can be viewed as either a blessing or a curse. For atmosphere alone, the restaurant resides on bustling Harvard Street just outside of college-friendly Coolidge Corner. Parking spaces, however, are scarce in this vicinity, so be prepared to walk. I, however, would gladly venture across all of Boston just to get a taste of what the Sewalls have cooked up. After all, their menu is reasonably priced compared to their urban bretheren (appetizers average $12, entrees come in around $24, and desserts at $8). Lineage ultimately upholds two key traditions: first, maintaining Mr. Sewall’s upstanding family reputation within the Brookline community, and most importantly, appealing to Paul’s Palate’s taste buds.

A Blessed "Union"

2007-08-19T12:58:00.001-07:00

While the South End’s lack of parking spaces may create headaches for visitors, its abundance of fine eating establishments often alleviates the pain. One such establishment, Union Bar and Grille - which recently appeared on Boston Magazine’s list of the city’s top 25 restaurants – allegedly offers fare that rivals some of the hub’s finest. Will Paul’s Palate ultimately agree or shall he pack some extra Excedrin just in case?

Restaurant week has arrived, and Union opens its doors, offering a three-course prix fixe menu for roughly $20. Given that type of value, my wife I express utter shock upon entering the restaurant, which is presently devoid of customers. We turn our attention to Union’s aesthetic interior, which with its black leather upholstery and wooden floors creates a simple yet elegant tone that miraculously works. The front-to-back bar is separated from the intimate dining area, which appears to accommodate approximately seventy patrons.

Our genial, courteous, and knowledgeable server arrives and confidently recommends the grapefruit martini, unquestionably his favorite amongst the cocktail selection. To my chagrin, his suggestion is spot-on, as this concoction is just sweet, sour, and subtle enough to elevate it to sublime status. Nor do the appetizers miss a beat, My wife orders the chilled cantaloupe wrapped in juicy mounds of prosciutto, alongside an arugula salad infused with a sweet citrus vinaigrette. My “Bloody Mary” gazpacho would make ravenous Spaniards proud with its light and ethereal blend of cucumber, red onion and grilled shrimp, and horseradish sourcream.

Entrees are equally delectable. My wife runs out of superlatives for her pan-roasted salmon “BLT,” a playful take on the customary sandwich, which is robust in both size and flavor. The salmon filet is perfectly cooked and is paired with warmed bread, applewood bacon, heir loom tomatoes, and herb mayonnaise. The side of buttery, crispy homemade potato chips doesn’t hurt, either. I, meanwhile, am reluctant to share a taste of my cornmeal dusted “fried clam roll,” creatively served over a crostini-like bread and accompanied by house made pickles, cole slaw, and a zesty chipotle tartar sauce.

For dessert, I once again query our server for his insight. Yet again, he does not flinch when encouraging me to try the ice cream sandwich, which consists of a mouth-watering mix of house made vanilla ice cream lodged between two gooey, warmed, moist double chocolate chip cookies and is splashed with milk chocolate fudge. Needless to say, this decadent dish is a winner and should be considered mandatory tasting for any diligent student enrolled in course Chocolate 101. My wife’s strawberry shortcake is also indulgent, lumping together a moist, yet light homemade brown sugar biscuit with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.

Prior to our departure, I ask our wonderful server if Union actually intends on expanding its hours of operation to include lunch. He responds that Union uses Restaurant Week as an experiment to assess if it is worthwhile remaining open for this midday meal. With both his belly stuffed with fine food and his mouth with strong praise, Paul’s Palate can barely muster enough energy to convince Union Bar and Grille that its potential lunchtime endeavor would suit him just fine.

Alta Strada Reaches New Culinary Heights

2007-07-24T03:52:00.000-07:00

An excursion to Alta Strada, a chic, new Italian dining establishment located slightly off of Rte 16 in Wellesley (off of Rte 135, to be exact), proves painstakingly cumbersome. The restaurant’s website is currently under construction, and its occupants appear incapable of providing directions that make any sense. This minute detail leaves this ravenous reviewer debating whether all the fuss over chef/owner Michael Schlow’s expansion into the suburbs is indeed warranted.

Following our half-hour detour, my wife and I meander into a moderately-sized, pristine, brightly-lit room, its walls splashed with vibrant yellow, green, and orange tones. The wooden tables and floors, in addition to interlaced brick walls, create a rustic ambience that meshes well with the otherwise modern décor of the room. On a Monday afternoon, patrons continue to filter in and the atmosphere is lively. It appears that Alta Strada is no longer a secret dining spot.

Our server arrives, instantly apologetic about the confusion over the erroneous directions they have provided. In a surprisingly genuine gesture, she offers us a complimentary side comprised of crisp crostini layered with homemade, red-pepper laced ricotta cheese. Not only are we deeply appreciative of the gesture, but we are left in awe over the superior quality of the ricotta itself, which is refreshingly light. We also munch on an additional crostini dish, this time smothered with fig jam and accompanied by thinly sliced, imported Italian prosciutto. This one is a legitimate show stopper: plainly put, this reviewer would gleefully lose his way on several more occasions if only for a taste of this supreme sampler. Resistance to the silky sweetness of the fig jam alongside the oh-so-fresh prosciutto is futile. Suddenly, this reviewer reaches an epiphany that this dish epitomizes the overall fare at Alta Strada: simplicity, freshness, and perfection over complexity and panache.

We proceed to our pasta entrees, for which chef Schlow is renowned. My wife orders a shrimp dish, which is accompanied by a spicy sauce and homemade spaghetti. The sauce, while pungent, is not overpowering, and carries just the right amount of kick. The generously-sized shrimp are moist, while the pasta is fresh and perfectly cooked al dente. My gnocci dish is equally divine, and I would be content simply gnawing on the plate’s other ingredients, which consist of a scrumptious symphony of tomato sauce, Italian hot sausage, and peas.

Without hesitation, our waitress recommends a homemade fruit torte for dessert, and are we ever glad that she does. This delectable concoction is served warm and moist, light yet rich, and its flaky crust and sweet berry filling are mouth-wateringly good. I must restrain myself from asking our server for additional fig jam from our earler crostini dish. What a perfect conclusion to a perfect meal that would be.

Service is top-notch. Our waitress is pleasant and extremely knowledgeable about the menu items and their ingredients. She is confident, and most importantly, accurate about her food recommendations. She is also attentive to my wife’s dairy allergy, ensuring that the kitchen prepares dishes accordingly.

Must this reviewer place a price on food that is of the utmost quality? Appetizers average between $12-14, pasta entrees around $16-17, and desserts at $7. Let me be the first of many to applaud Mr. Schlow for foregoing the flash of his more famous city eateries (i.e. Great Bay and Radius) and sticking to an age-old culinary formula: simplicity + freshness = delightful dining. Paul’s Palate has never claimed to be a mathematician, but he knows this equation inside and out, and Alta Strada passes this taste test with flying colors.

This Mockingbird sings

2007-07-10T13:50:00.000-07:00

Slightly obscured from Route 18’s path in East Bridgewater, this passerby may easily have missed the Mockingbird Restaurant and Martini Lounge. In fact, upon entering into this fairly upscale establishment’s parking lot, customers can just as easily and mistakenly enter the gravel driveway of a nearby house to the right. This house is awkwardly situated given its proximity to the restaurant, and is on full display from the restaurant’s dining area window. Urban planning gaffes aside, does the Mockingbird make Paul’s Palate sing?

Although visibility is minimal in the entryway, my wife and I are brought into a larger, brighter room that emits a trendy confidence with its contemporary greenish colors, cushy couches, radiant lighting, and cathedral ceilings. The dining area is pristine, not a crumb in sight. We are immediately at ease, introduced to our attentive, courteous, if not slightly loquacious server.

From there, we let the martini marathon begin. This martini bar carries an astronomical assortment of eighty alternatives from which to choose. The Key Lime martini with a graham cracker-laced rim is simply sublime, while the Patriot (Blue Raspberry vodka, Chambord, sour mix, and Sprite) is equally refreshing. The lone disappointment of the bunch is the Aqua Marine (Hpnotiq with crème de banana and pineapple juice), which leaves a strange, sour aftertaste on the palate.

Merry from our martinis, we proceed to our appetizers, which prove to be by and large satisfactory. Although the beef barley is not as hearty as one would hope, the salad is crisp and light, layered with a zesty chardonnay dressing. The bacon-wrapped scallops are a winning dish, served moist, warm, light, and most importantly, scrumptious in a blackberry emulsion.

Entrees are generous in terms of both portion size and taste appeal. The duck is prepared just right (medium rare) and its accompanying pomegranate reduction is pure heaven – neither too sweet nor syrupy. This dish also scores high marks for its unique rice presentation, which is stacked high in a circular fashion. This reviewer, however, questions the logic - or lack thereof - behind including a bland side of spinach with such a rich dish. The roasted veal tenderloin is equally tender and also perfectly cooked, though once again, the pasta seems an oddity here. Minor complaints aside (get it?), the meats in these dishes are the stars and they shine brightly.

Dessert comes in the form of a decadent fallen chocolate torte that effortlessly falls into our mouths. This concoction is moist, warm, and laced with a gooey hot fudge sauce and vanilla ice cream. Dare I say that this chocolate lover’s dream is one of the finest I’ve devoured in quite some time?

Value-wise, Mockingbird cannot be beaten. Martinis and appetizers average out around $7 apiece, while entrees come in at $16. For sheer comfort and quality, that sure beats doling out at least twice that amount for a comparable meal in the city. The Mockingbird leaves Paul’s Palate singing a glorious new tune, and he believes it’s destined to be a hit.

Loco is crazy good!

2007-05-18T08:12:00.000-07:00

Venturing into Loco, a quaint, little tapas and wine bar situated directly off of busy Route 138 in South Easton, MA, Paul’s Palate initially feared the worst. Only because on an evening in which torrential downpours and blackened skies dominated the landscape, this superstitious soul felt that the hostile weather pattern presented an ominous sign in terms of an enjoyable dining experience. Would this reviewer ultimately go “loco (spanish term for crazy)” over Loco or would he be left uttering the phrase “Nunca Mas (never again)?”

Fortunately, my deepest fears are immediately allayed upon arrival. Loco’s unique atmosphere can be attributed to its blend of warmth and intimacy. With its pristine interior, walls splattered in dark red hues, a copper bar, dimmed lighting, authentic Spanish songs playing aloud, and a relatively smaller-sized, cozy dining area, Loco exudes a hip, romantic vibe without being overtly pretentious. Its atmosphere is only enhanced by the attentiveness and friendliness of the wait staff, all of whom make diners feel welcomed and right at home. Our server is particularly good this evening, proving accurate in her culinary recommendations and her casual manner. This evening, the Executive Chef even goes out of her way, jovially making tableside rounds to ensure that her customers are content. Meanwhile, Loco’s co-owner is in the kitchen whipping up an array of potentially delectable dishes that make me reminisce about the Spanish cuisine I adored several years ago during my year spent abroad in Seville, Spain. Would Loco’s cuisine live up to such lofty expectations?

Cocktails are memorable, though we do get off to a rather auspicious start. The Manhattan, with its combination of whisky and Spanish sherry, sounds promising, but an excess of the former makes for an unbearably strong beverage. My wife cannot even bring her lips to the glass, overwhelmed by the intense aromas of the whisky. With the sincerest of apologies from our server, the Manhattan is swiftly taken away, and I proceed to order a much more enjoyable mojito, a cool, crisp mix of Spanish rum doused with fresh mint. My spouse’s Key Lime martini comes highly recommended, and for good reason. This concoction is sweet, light, and not too heavy on the stomach, a fate that befalls many dessert cocktails in other establishments. The home-made sangria falls a bit flat given its surprising lack of sweetness, leaving a pungent aftertaste.

As a mini-starter (“pinchos”), we share pan de tomaquet (catalan garlic and tomato rubbed bread), a zesty dish that leaves us wondering why we nibbled on the complimentary bread from Iggy’s in Cambridge - as good as it was - in the first place. From there, we proceed to sip on a light, refreshing bowl of gazpacho a la barceloneta (gazpacho of Barcelona) as our tapa fria (cold tapa), which is a delightful orange-colored soup that proves not too creamy and packs a peppery punch.

In lieu of entrees (platos principales), many of which appear tempting (such as the paella and rioja braised beef short ribs), we decide to experiment with several smaller hot tapa (tapas calientes) dishes. The first and most intriguing of these that arrive are the mojito marinated chicken and beef skewers with grilled lime. While the presentation is a plus given that the dish is accompanied by a mojito shooter and the skewers are served in triangular fashion, the meat itself is disappointing, particularly the chicken, which is prepared on the dry side. Next come the seared diver scallops with spiced grapefruit relish. Although the relish tag proves slightly misleading in that it is comes in the form of a juice, this dish wins us over, as the scallops are succulent and perfectly cooked, absorbing the tangy bitterness of the grapefruit. The tortilla espanol (Spanish egg and potato omelet with romesco sauce) is equally enjoyable, and its accompanying spicy romesco sauce make this dish sizzle. Lastly, the duo of pork dish, which includes rioja braised bbq pork and seared tenderloin, is tasty, though my spouse and I unanimously prefer the former, wishing we could consume just the tangy, moist pork alone.

To finish, we split a heavenly trio of warmed churros, a Spanish dessert (postre) consisting of dough, subsequently dipped in chocolate ice cream with flecks of cocoa. These doughy delights are some of the best I’ve tasted, including those from Seville. A healthy infusion of café con leche (Spanish coffee and espresso blend with steamed milk) washes away all traces of the churros, and my spouse and I are ultimately content with the conclusion of what has to be considered by and large a successful dining experience.

Value rates well for Loco. From a price perspective, small tapa dishes range from $3-6, while the majority of hot and cold tapa plates run from $5-10. Main entrees fluctuate from $15-29. And of course, one cannot put a price on the quality of authentic Spanish cuisine. This reviewer certainly hopes that surrounding towns rapidly catch wind of this eclectic eatery. Might Paul’s Palate return for an encore? I’d be “loco” not to.

Aquitaine Bis is a slight miss

2007-05-07T08:30:00.000-07:00

This secret reviewer rightfully holds lofty expectations for Aquitaine Bis, sister restaurant to its beloved flagship establishment in Boston’s South End. Located in a small plaza off of busy Route 9 in Chestnut Hill, Paul’s Palate wonders if the buzz over this bistro is warranted. Besides, its previous occupant, Bella Luna, was a staple of fine dining for years in this community. Would Paul’s Palate find a worthy heir apparent in Aquitaine Bis?

Arriving a few minutes early, my wife and I meander to the bar area, where we dejectedly learn that no martini menus exist. I request an espresso martini, which is rich in taste, not too thick, and does not possess a surplus of vodka, which often ruins this mixed drink. My spouse orders a margherita, whose potent tequila flavor emerges without being overly sweet. Along the way, we soak in the restaurant’s intimate, if not somewhat gloomy atmosphere, which includes dimmed lighting and dark leather seating. We are informed that our table is now ready and we quickly proceed to our seats, hunger pangs and all.

We are bewildered to learn from our server that my wife cannot delve into any of the appetizers due to each item containing dairy products. This is particularly troubling because this reviewer has called ahead of time and is told that the kitchen can in fact accommodate patrons who have this particular allergy. Even more exasperating is the fact that our server brings us what appears to be a zesty plate of sage gnocci dusted with cheese. We ultimately decide upon the escargots de bourguignonne with garlic and herb butter and brioche toast, and the snails’ buttery squirminess assuages whatever frustrations we have about the aforementioned culinary faux pas.

We carnivorously devour the flesh from our meaty entrees, mine being the highly regarded steak frites. The thinly cut steak strips are perfectly cooked, succulent and sweet, given that they are drizzled with meat juice and perigord black truffle vinaigrette. The accompanying watercress shallot salad is rather bland in comparison, and seems to be the dish’s lone oddity. The dish’s other side, however, the slightly salty, crispy frites (special take on french fries), proves to be more memorable. In lieu of the ketchup bottle, this reviewer contently dips his fried friends into the meat’s juices. My wife’s veal osso bucco is equally delectable, falling right off the bone and melting into the mouth, though she cannot resist taking sporadic bites of the irresistibly scrumptious steak dish that rests across the table.

Dessert, however, is an utter disaster. The warm chocolate pudding cake is overcooked, the cake dried out and the hot pudding center itself evaporated. For a bistro that prides itself on simplistic takes on elegant dishes, how, pray tell, do they manage to botch such a simple concoction as warmed chocolate cake?

Dining at Aquitaine proves to be a rather expensive proposition for my money’s worth. Although the quality of the fare is above-average, it is not strong enough to sustain a hefty price tag ranging between $26-$34 per entrée. Also a factor: medium-sized portions that leave us licking our plates and yearning for one or two additional bites of each dish. Does Paul’s Palate enjoy an evening at Aquitaine? Sure, but you certainly won’t see this caped critic doing somersaults to return there any time soon.

Steak and cheese? Puh-leeze. Try the Parish Cafe...

2007-05-01T08:51:00.000-07:00

Sandwiches do not typically evoke much excitement from this reviewer given the unwarranted mass appeal of retail chains that include D’Angelos, Quiznos, and Subway. One surprising alternative, however, the Parish Café, resides in Boston. Situated directly on bustling Boylston Street, this establishment elevates sandwiches to an art form by consulting with several local culinary giants - including Radius chef/owner Michael Schlow and Blue Ginger’s celebrity chef/owner Ming Tsai – who provide their own unique variations on the often substandard sandwich. Did this experimentation ultimately appeal to Paul’s Palate or would I simply be left craving a measly steak and cheese sub at D’Angelos?

Although the café’s dining area is somewhat crammed and one must nearly resort to shouting in order to be heard, the atmosphere is rather relaxed once we settle in to our table. Given the busy environment of the restaurant, the wait staff is friendly, albeit interchangeable. While these comings and goings smoothly keep our meal moving at a pleasant pace, they do diminish our overall satisfaction level with service. There is something to be said for developing a rapport with one, and not several, attentive servers.

Our meal begins with one of the most memorable appetizers I can recall tasting. We munch away on the heralded roasted reggae wings, which come marinated in a potent blend of Jamaican jerk spices, fresh citrus and soy. The amount meat on these wings is generous and extremely succulent. As an added bonus, the wings are accompanied by a heavenly concoction of banana-mango chutney. This reviewer could have gnawed on several of these wings and simply called it a day. As the waiter removes this savory dish, we begrudgingly proceed to our entrees.

The sandwiches, however, prove equally delectable, and are simply awe-inspiring given their boldness and combination of flavors. My companion, who is a regular inhabitant here, resorts to what she identifies as “old reliable,” otherwise known as the Zuni Roll. This sandwich, enmeshed in a warmed flour tortilla, contains smoked turkey, bacon, scallions, dill havarti cheese, and cranberry-chipotle sauce, and is as good as it sounds. The turkey is moist and virtually melts in one’s mouth. In an adventurous mood, I decide to order the Schlesinger, aptly named for East Coast Grille’s chef/owner, Chris. This sandwich consists of warm banana-nut bread, smoked ham, Monterey jack cheese, mango chutney, and pickled ginger red cabbage. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t initially feel queasy, if not intrigued by this perplexing combination of ingredients. The result, however, is pure magic. This innovative item is one of the most mouth-watering meals I’ve enjoyed feasting upon, and I suddenly have the urge to walk over to Mr. Schlesinger’s establishment and shake his hand in admiration.

The homemade white chocolate brioche bread pudding brings the meal to a successful conclusion. This dessert is served warm and is sufficiently moist to boot. Fortunately, it does not suffer the fates of similar plates, which include excess heat, syrup and whipped cream, and which are frequently on the heavier side.

Value is just right based upon the flavorful fare to be had. Appetizers range from $8-$12, while sandwiches fluctuate from $12-$15. Not bad, considering this patron would find himself in the poorhouse dining at one of the Parish Cafe’s all-star consultant chef’s main establishments (such as the aforementioned Radius and Blue Ginger). I apologize in advance, D’Angelos, but I believe I’m going to pass on that steak and cheese sub for now. Paul’s Palate can’t bear to take another bite.

Tamboo should not be considered taboo

2007-04-12T09:12:00.000-07:00

Having received first-hand accounts filled with praise for Tamboo Bistro, located on Main Street in Brockton, MA, one wonders if this city’s downtown area, notorious for its lack of culinary flair, is undergoing an upscale transformation. Tamboo, after all, signifies the rhythm of life, and its owners hope to emulate this by serving an eclectic array of both New American and Haitian fare. In the infamous words of Gloria Estefan (and who could omit the accompanying Miami Sound Machine), is Tamboo’s “rhythm going to get me” or will it disappointingly fall flat according to Paul’s Palate?

Location-wise, Tamboo resides at the beginning of Main Street, which resembles a ghost town mid-week, with its empty sidewalks and emptier nearby buildings that remain vacant. Clearly, this is not as bustling an area as initially thought. The restaurant is shockingly devoid of customers upon our arrival, thereby enabling us to meander to the bar area and admire the sleek décor. Clearly, owner Chrismin Charlot has infused a great deal of money renovating this space. From its space-lit entry, to its ultra-modern, hip interior - which includes stylish tables, funky walls, Haitian artwork, mood lighting, and a futuristic bar/lounge area – one feels transported several years ahead in time, if not at least into one of the classy, sophisticated dining scenes found in Boston. The establishment is spotless with the exception of small morsels that stand out on its carpeted entryway.

At the bar, we ogle a wide-ranging variety of cocktails, which are even broken out into categories such as a Sexy list (don’t ask me, just try them). After sipping on delectable pear and mango martinis, mango mojitos (served in bended glasses), and pomegranate margaritas, we make our way to our table, anxious to consume our meals.

Our server, albeit quiet in nature, is pleasant, attentive, and courteous. He provides accurate recommendations in regard to the menu, which include zesty appetizers. The fried calamari possess a nice, squishy texture and mesh well with fiery red peppers. The Haitian fried meatballs with dipping sauce are a legitimate winner. With a lightly crunchy exterior and juicy, spicy interior, I could pop hundreds more of these into my mouth if only I had an expanded stomach capacity to do so. The only lackluster appetizer is the rum-roasted chicken wings, which come highly recommended by our server. Although meaty and flavorful, they more closely resemble buffalo wings than rum-soaked ones.

As with our drinks, we face a difficult task of choosing between a jaw-dropping number of entrees. Fortunately, they are flawlessly presented, large in portion size, and delectable upon arrival. Spicy aromas emanate from uniquely-shaped plates. Juicy goat meet happily swims in a slightly spicy, zesty creole sauce with peppers. A whole red snapper is equally divine, served with onions, peppers, and herbs. Island shrimp sizzled with peppers stands out, however, as the most memorable entrée of the evening with its winning, adventurous combination of ingredients that include brown sugar, cumin, and chili powder.

For dessert, the Raspberry Mont Blanc, a scrumptious concoction of white chocolate mousse, kirsh-soaked raspberries, is playfully presented in a white and red pyramid shell. Light, subtle, and not painfully sweet, I would travel to Egypt and back for another taste of this heavenly, innovative pyramid-like pastry.

It is this reviewer’s hope that Tamboo establishes its own rhythm in terms of attracting a consistent clientele. Certainly, its value cannot be beaten. Where else can fine dining be enjoyed at $15 to $20 per entrée? Hopefully, the mid-week visit and empty tables were not indicative of the fanfare surrounding this welcomed addition to the Brockton community. Otherwise, Paul’s Palate will sadly need to find its rhythm elsewhere.

Oak Room leaves hollow feeling

2007-04-09T05:14:00.000-07:00

Upon entering the highly touted Oak Room restaurant, nestled away in Boston’s equally luxurious Fairmont Copley Hotel, the scene resembles that from one of the classic James Bond films, in which the suave, debonair 007 (Sean Connery, for my taste) enters an exorbitantly expensive dining establishment and calmly asks for his customary martini, shaken not stirred. The Oak Room, not surprisingly, offers such a cocktail called the 007. This secret agent, er, reviewer went undercover to assess if this dining experience would leave me saying Never Say Never Again (that would translate to a compliment given the double entendre) or have me playing the part of the evil Dr. No. In other words, did the Oak Room meet Paul’s Palate?

On atmosphere alone, the Oak Room scores high marks for grandeur and decadence. One can clearly ascertain from where the restaurant obtains its name, as oak panels encompass the entire room. The mounted, stuffed deer on the walls, mile-high cathedral ceilings, and illustrious chandeliers provide a peculiar, yet casual ballroom/country-club like setting. Waiters are decked out in tuxedoes, and customers should plan on dressing accordingly for this fancy affair (i.e. it is recommended that men wear jackets). The dining area is pristine, not a crumb to be found. One major cause for irritation, however: why does the Oak Room insist that customers depart from the dining area only to utilize the hotel’s washrooms, which are surprisingly filthy?

Service is near pitch perfect. Our waiter is friendly, attentive, and infinitely astute about the menu, confidently providing recommendations throughout the evening. One such notable suggestion of which this reviewer is particularly fond includes a 2004 Louis Martini Cabernet, which is perhaps the most smooth, subtle, luscious wine I have tasted in quite some time. This glass is not overpowering like most Cabernets, and perfectly compliments the steak dish I have ordered. The wine, however, is unfortunately the highlight of the evening.

Appetizers are disappointingly bland. Calamari came out lukewarm, containing too much batter and zero “zing.” Another side dish of potatoes and onion rings also comes out on the colder side, similarly lacking in flavor. Asparagus tips are also maddeningly lukewarm, and on the brittle side in terms of texture. On a more positive note, sesame crackers, crispy mini bagels, and spicy olives laid out tableside tide us over until the main entrees. As an aside, while the wine recommendation is spot-on, the pomegranate and cucumber mojitos we ingest are mediocre at best, lacking the sweet potency of the pomegranate altogether.

This being a steakhouse and all, meat assumedly will be the standout course of the evening. Are we ever mistaken: a bone-in ribeye, a notoriously juicy and moist cut of meat, is a tad overcooked and unacceptably fatty. Fortunately, the aforementioned Cabernet offsets this major culinary faux pas.

Given that we are celebrating a landmark birthday with family members, we proceed to devour slices of birthday cake that are garnished with a luscious kiwi and strawberry sauce. Our cinnamon-infused cappuccinos are the best I can recall in recent memory, but I remain baffled and frustrated as to why the drinks have taken center stage over the meals this evening.

In terms of value, the Oak Room rates poorly. While portions are moderate, the quality of the dishes ranges from mediocre to poor. For my money’s worth, this secret agent would rather splurge at Morton’s Steakhouse, or even Vintage, out in West Roxbury. Dr. No has re-emerged from his evil lair, and his earth-shattering verdict is in: the Oak Room does not meet Paul’s Palate.

Coriander Review

2007-02-15T05:09:00.000-08:00

On a brisk, pre-Valentine’s Day evening, my wife and I venture out to Coriander Bistro for a hopefully heartwarming experience. According to several close acquaintances of ours, Coriander, located in the quaint suburb of Sharon, Massachusetts, happens to be one the South Shore’s – if not the state’s – trendiest, upscale restaurants. It has also apparently infused a much needed element of hipness to the town center’s rather blasé setting since its inception several years ago. But did this lauded establishment meet Paul’s Palate?

From the outset, Coriander’s atmosphere is simply intoxicating. Upon entering, we are instantly greeted by Coriander’s co-owner, Jill Crawley. She is genuinely warm and welcoming, possessing neither the stuffiness nor the feigned graciousness that some of the elite Boston-based restaurants cannot seem to avoid. From its exterior, Coriander’s physical space does not appear suited to serve a large number of clientele. The pristine, wooden interior, however, with its Cathedral-like ceilings, creates a magnificent illusory effect that makes the room appear more expansive than it actually is. The dimmed track lighting is just right, adding to the overall romantic, intimate ambience. From the instantly-viewable kitchen emanate aromas which only arouse our interest and stoke our appetites.

The service itself is nothing short of perfection, and elevates what could have been a merely good dining experience into a most memorable one. Our server is personable, attentive, polished, and extremely knowledgeable about the menu, not only making pinpoint recommendations, but also taking my wife’s dairy allergies into account, which is not a given at upscale restaurants. While we remain seated for two hours, our meals are served at a leisurely pace that enables us to comfortably ingest our potent martinis (the pomegranate, in particular), dishes, and the enjoyable atmosphere itself.

Appetizers leave us salivating and anxiously awaiting our entrees. For starters, our server provides us with a pre-appetizer treat – or more aptly – a tease. As a courtesy of the chef, we sip on a particularly scrumptious, somewhat spicy spoonful of ginger carrot soup. From there, the handcrafted gnocci’s slightly rubbery texture meshes wonderfully with a unique blend of light, savory tomato broth and sliky-soft chunks of braised ribs, and this is unequivocally the standout dish of the evening. My wife’s wild mushroom tartlet with boar sausage is perfectly warmed and not overly flaxy, a tendency inferior concoctions tend to have.

Entrees are almost equally divine and portions more than generous. I would have preferred my Long Island Duck “Two Ways” served as only “One Way.” While the meat on the bone is moist, the task of actually getting to it proves to be difficult. The skin is unbearably buttery, and prohibits full enjoyment in conjunction with the meat itself. The other half of the duck is entirely off the bone, and cooked perfectly medium rare. The accompanying spatzle and asparagus tips are simple and fun, and do not overpower the duck itself. My wife’s succulent thick cut pork chop, however, is the far superior dish, with its blend of artichokes, pickled shallots, roasted potatoes, and garlic sauce.

We finish with a dessert that comes highly touted by our server, and it would be an understatement if we said she is spot-on with her suggestion. A raspberry lindsor torte served warm with graham cracker ice cream melts in the mouth. I am left licking my fork and craving more of this delectable dish.

Value is reasonable, but in the eyes of the beholder. Prices are moderately high, and on par with upscale Boston eateries, less the city’s exorbitant valet parking fees. The quality of the fare, however, does not suffer given the shift to a suburban setting. For convenience alone, diners can experience a gourmet meal here without the additional stresses of traffic and parking, which are no doubt burdensome and can diminish any Boston fine dining experience. While I am a bit flustered that the 3-course, $30 Prix Fixe currently posted on Coriander’s website is no longer available (we are told that this was only a summer option), this slight faux pas does not ruin a perfect evening.

Only two tables are seated when we arrive at Coriander, but not one is empty upon our departure, and it is understandable to see why. Coriander’s allure is its ability to bring gourmet food out to the suburbs without the pretentiousness. With its refreshingly chic menu and convenient location in Sharon center, it is no wonder why this hotspot has deservedly earned rave reviews. A little birdie recently chirped into my ear that Coriander may be up for sale. Let us hope that my feathered friend was misinformed, as this fine establishment unquestionably meets Paul’s Palate.

I bid you adieu...

2007-01-22T14:09:00.000-08:00

Welcome, everyone! I am a first time blogger (that term strikes me as weird, if not downright creepy, but never mind that). You see, several months ago, my wife and I struck up a meaningful conversation about the professional career paths we've chosen (she, an accounant, and myself, a physician contractor), and whether these occupations were what we were truly meant to do in life, if we were in fact in love with our work or simply "in like" with it, if you will. Please be assured that I am content in my current profession, but have always seemed to enjoy writing. Always an avid reader and having written several arts reviews for my college school newspaper, my passion for writing came to an emphatic close back in the late 90's prior to my entering the workforce. I recently decided that I wanted to re-kindle that hobby, and this seemed to me the perfect avenue to do so.

My love of food goes without saying. I frequently enjoy restaurant-hopping with my wife, as we are always experimenting by trying new, hip (what did you expect, decrepit and lame?) restaurants and various cuisines. And if it's desert you're looking for, labeling me a "Choco-holic" would be putting things mildly. Therefore, it is my hope that this blog site will ideally serve as a forum dedicated to restaurant reviews, be it from me as the second-coming of the Phantom Gourmet (Don't worry, they won't recognize me as I'll be dressed incognito! Besides, the Andelmens have nothing on me!) or from you, my dedicated readers, as I am open to hearing any suggestions, or warnings, for local restaurants in the Boston/South Shore area.

Speaking of upcoming reviews, my Valentine's Day treat to all of you will be a heart-shaped critique of my dining experience at what I've heard is one of THE most chic, sophisticated eateries in the South Shore. The scene is Sharon Center and the place is known as Coriander. Allegedly a gourmet experience in a suburb setting not to be missed. But will it meet Paul's Palate? To be continued...